r-nse  40 
'MELOON  LOOKED  IT  AT  THE  GIKL  HY   IHE  MAM  EL" 


THE    MELOON    FARM 


H  "Hovel 


BY 

MARIA  LOUISE  POOL 

ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK   AND   LONDON 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
IQOO 


pf 


BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR 

THE   RED    BRIDGE    NKK.HKOKHOOD. 

Illustrated  by  CLIFFORD  CAKLETUN  .........  91  SO 

IN   T1IH   HKVl    ri.KM>N  -jr, 

MKv  <.KK  \LD.    Illustrated.  60 

AGAINST  HUMAN  NA  1  IK  I  25 

OUT  OF  STEP  ..................  26 

I  UK  IUO  V\l  uMl-.-s  26 

K  \I  HAKIM.  NOKIH  26 

ROWENY  IN  BOSTON  26 
MRS.  KEATS  BH.\I>I  <  u:i>.  A  Sequel  to 

"  Koweny  in  Boston  "  ........................  26 

DALLY  .........................................  26 

All  Pott  9vo,  Ctott.  Ornamental. 


VuKK    AM)    I.nNDON  : 
HARPER  &   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1900,  br  CAROLIN«  M    BRANSON. 

Alt  HfJkt* 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I.  A  LOST  DOG i 

II.  A  FREE  MAN 9 

III.  COUSIN  RAWDON'S  LETTER 16 

IV.  COUSIN  RAWDON 24 

V.  ARRIVAL 33 

VI.  How  IT  WENT 41 

VII.  A  HIRED  GIRL 48 

VIII.  HOUSEWORK 57 

IX.  THE  NEW  HIRED  MAN 66 

X.  "Do  You  WANT  TO  SING  AGAIN?" 74 

XL  BY  THE  FIRESIDE 84 

XII.  HOPE  REVIVING 93 

XIII.  FAILURE 101 

XIV.  ANOTHER  TRIAL no 

XV.  "!T  HAS  COME!" 121 

XVI.  AN  ACCIDENT 129 

XVII.  BY  THE  ROAD-SIDE 135 

XVIII.  BROUGHT  HOME 143 

XIX.  MERELY  A  VOICE 152 

XX.  GOING  AWAY 159 

XXI.  A  ROOM  IN  ROXBURY 167 

XXII.  A  STREET  SCENE 175 

XXIII.  BATHSHEBA  AGAIN 183 

XXIV.  AT  THE  WHARF 192 

iii 


CONTENTS 

Ma 

XXV.  LOTOS  RETURNS 201 

XXVI.    HlLDRETH   ALSO    RETURNS 2IO 

XXVII.  CALM  DAYS 215 

XXVIII.  AT  THE  TICKET  OFFICE 221 

XXIX.  TYPE-WRITTEN  LETTERS 230 

XXX.  AT  THE  OPERA ...  239 

\\.\I.   AN  IMKKVIKW 244 

XXXII.  To  REMEMBER 250 

XXXIII.  No  MORE  UNCERTAP                  258 

XXXIV.  A  SAVING  GRACE 264 

XXXV.  WITH  TROOPER 271 

XXXVI.  AT  HOME 276 

XXXVII.  FRIENDS 284 

XXXVIII.  THE  SUGAR  ORCHARD 292 

XXXIX.  CHANGING  His  MIND 299 

XL.  WITH  ALL  MY  HEART 307 

XLI.  HILPRETH'S  REFUGE 315 

XLII.  UNSTABLE  HILURETH 321 

XLIII.  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER 328 

XLIV.  TWENTY-EIGHT  BELOW  ...               ....  336 

XLV.  As  SAKE  AS  IN   HK.AVKN 344 

XLVI.  AT  THE  FARM-HOUSE 353 

XLVII.  THE  PRESCRIPTION 362 

XLVIII.  PEACE 371 

XLIX.   BY  THE  FIRESIDE .     .  379 

L.  THE  FRESHET 389 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"MELOON    LOOKED    UP    AT    THE    GIRL    BY    THE 

MANTEL" Frontispiece 

"'WE   ARE    NOT    USED    TO    BEING    INSULTED!'    SHE 

SAID " Facing  p.      12 

THE  MELOON   FARM       ..'..., 34 

"'YOU   ARE  BOUND  TO   HEAR   ME*" 82 

"SHE    WAS    LEANING    HEAVILY    ON    HER    NEPHEW'S 

ARM  " "           IO6 

"THEY  SAW  MELOON'S  FACE,  WHITE,  WITH  BRIGHT 

EYES" "       140. 

"  SHE  WENT  TO  THE  TOP  OF  THE  HILL  "     ....  "        1 56 

"'LAND  ALIVE!   WHAT  ARE  YOU  UP  TO  ?' "   .     .     .  "       160 

RUGGLES "           164 

"'BILLY,   ARE  YOU   GOING  TO   HURT   ME   BY   BRING- 
ING THAT   BACK?'" "          170 

THE   FIDDLER   ON   THE   CORNER "           l8o 

"' GOOD-BYE,  TA-TA '" "          2O2 

"'YOU   ARE  LAUGHING   AT   ME,   MELOON'"      ...  "          232 

"THE  NEXT  MOMENT  THE  CURTAIN  HAD  GONE  up"  "        240 
"'YOU  NEEDN'T  BE  ALARMED  AT  THE  GHASTLI- 

NESS,'  SHE  SAID  " "       244 

"'WHY,  RAWDON,  IS  ANYTHING  THE  MATTER?'"  .  "        276 

"NOW  SHE  WAS  LOOKING  STRAIGHT  AT  HIM"  .     .  "        284 

V 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"'DID    YOU    HEAR     HER     SINGING    IN     MEETIN*    ONE 

SUNDAY?'" Faci«f}.  294 

"  STOOD  AN  INSTANT  GAZING  AFTER  THE  CARRIAGE  "  "  302 

"RIDING  FURIOUSLY   ALONG  THE  ROAD"     ....  "  304 

"BUT  HERE  WAS   BILLY   STANDING  ALONE"      ...  "  308 

"'GOING  TO  BUNK   ON  THIS  BOAT?"' "  316 

"MRS.  ARMSTRONG   KNELT   BESIDE   HER"       ....  "  354 

THE   DOCTOR ••  360 

"I    SAW    HER     PRESS    HER    CHEEK    TO    THE    TYPE- 
WRITTEN SHEET" "  390 


THE    MELOON    FARM 


THE  MELOON  FARM 


A   LOST  DOG 

HE  was  going  at  a  steady  sling-trot  across  the  wet 
pasture.  The  dew  was  so  heavy  this  early  fall 
morning  that  every  wild-rose  bush  and  sweet- 
fern  shrub  glittered  in  the  sun.  The  dog  was 
drenched,  save  for  the  top  of  his  head  and  a  narrow 
space  down  his  spine.  He  was  smooth-haired  and 
brindled,  and  he  wore  a  wide,  brass-studded  collar 
with  a  plate  which  bore  this  inscription  :  "  Lotos. 
No.  310.  Wilhelmina  Armstrong."  Sometimes  a  bird 
flew  at  his  approach ;  or  a  chipmonk  darted  up  a 
tree,  wheeled,  and  looked  down  at  the  passing  of  this 
dangerous  monster.  But  Lotos  did  not  mind  any  of 
these.  He  went  with  his  head  down,  and  with  de- 
termination, until  he  reached  the  very  top  of  the 
pasture ;  then  he  stopped  and  looked  off  over  the 
country  spread  out  before  him.  Perhaps  he  saw  the 
farm-houses  and  barns,  here  and  there,  and  the  dis- 
tant stand-pipe  of  the  town  water  of  Manville.  This 
stand-pipe  was  painted  vermilion,  and  was  a  promi- 
nent object  in  the  landscape.  Perhaps  he  saw  none 
of  these  things ;  one  cannot  be  sure,  always,  of  what 
a  dog  does  see.  He  stood  with  his  head  elevated 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

now,  his  black  nostrils  working  anxiously,  his  tail 
drooped.  After  a  moment  his  tail  drooped  still  more, 
his  nose  went  up  higher,  and  he  howled.  Then  he 
began  to  trot  about  in  a  small  space,  snuffing  at  the 
grass  and  bushes.  He  looked  so  draggled  and  for- 
lorn, and  seemed  so  worried  that  you  would  have 
been  sorry  for  him.  He  was  not  thin  in  flesh,  how- 
ever, and  probably  was  not  suffering  from  hunger. 
There  was  a  wet  fragment  of  blue  ribbon  dangling 
from  his  collar,  this  fragment  hinting  at  feminine 
hands. 

After  a  while  Lotos  flung  himself  on  his  side  on 
the  ground  and  gave  himself  up  for  a  moment  to 
panting  heavily.  The  sun  was  shining  brilliantly, 
and  it  was  getting  very  warm.  But  tired  though  he 
was,  he  could  only  lie  a  moment.  He  sprang  up  and 
began  running  about  again.  Evidently  he  was  lost, 
or  had  lost  his  friend.  It  was  pitiable  to  see  him. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  short,  head  erect,  tail  stif- 
fened, ears  cocked.  He  heard  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps. The  wind  was  blowing  from  him  and  he 
could  learn  nothing  from  the  smell.  He  waited.  It 
seemed  a  long  time  before  the  footsteps  came  near- 
er, but  they  did  come  at  last  A  man  emerged  from 
a  thicket  of  pine-trees  just  below  the  brow  of  the 
eminence  on  top  of  which  the  dog  now  stood.  Lotos 
waited,  the  eager  hope  growing  in  his  attitude,  and 
then  gradually  dying  out  of  it. 

It  was  a  young  man,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  a 
youngish  man,  of  a  little  over  thirty,  who  came  slow- 
ly along,  a  thick  stick  in  his  hand,  his  manner  sug- 
gesting that  he  was  travelling  without  any  strictly 
definite  object.  As  he  drew  nearer  Lotos  growled 
provisionally,  wagged  his  tail  slightly  and  interroga- 
tively, then  waited. 


A   LOST   DOG 

The  man  did  not  at  first  see  the  dog,  who  was  in 
a  mass  of  sweet-fern.  He  paused  and  looked  off,  as 
the  dog  had  done,  and  he,  being  human,  probably 
saw  the  farm-houses  and  the  distant  stand-pipe.  He 
did  not  recognize  anything. 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "  this  isn't  the  place  at  all ! 
How  stupid  I  must  have  been  to  come  here.  Now, 
the  question  is,  where  am  I  ?" 

Here  Lotos  advanced  in  a  semi-belligerent  and 
wholly  questioning  manner. 

"  Hullo  !    Who's  this  ?"  cried  the  man. 

And  as  he  spoke  his  face  changed  greatly ;  it 
flushed  and  then  grew  pale.  Lotos  was  sniffing  at 
these  unfamiliar  trousers,  and  he  was  evidently  glad 
of  a  companion  in  his  lost  state.  More  than  that, 
was  there  gradually  coming  a  puzzled  recognition  to 
his  mind  ?  His  tail  wagged  faster. 

The  stranger  suddenly  sank  down  on  one  knee  in 
the  grass,  seized  the  dog's  collar,  and  read  what  was 
written  upon  it. 

"  Old  fellow — dear  old  fellow — don't  you  know 
me  ?"  he  said.  "  Lotos,  I  say,  Lotos,  give  us  a  paw, 
old  boy  !  Give  us  a  paw,  and  say  you're  glad  to  see 
me!" 

The  dog's  whole  body  was  now  wriggling  furiously. 
He  sprang  upon  the  man,  a  paw  upon  each  shoulder, 
while  he  licked  his  face  and  whined  in  a  tremolo  of 
emotion. 

When  the  effusion  of  this  greeting  had  somewhat 
subsided  and  the  man  was  wiping  his  face  with  his 
handkerchief,  he  said  :  "  Now,  dog,  give  an  account 
of  yourself.  Are  you  lost  also  ?  But  you  ought  to 
know  this  country,  every  inch  of  it.  Take  me  out 
somewhere." 

Lotos  listened  with  one  ear  forward  and  one  back. 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

Now  that  he  could  think  again,  his  depression  plainly 
returned  to  him,  somewhat  modified.  He  was  say- 
ing one  of  two  things  :  either  "  I'm  lost,"  or  "  I  can't 
find  her,  and  she  is  lost." 

But  his  companion  could  not  understand  him.  He 
stooped  and  read  the  words  on  the  collar  once  more. 

"  Wilhelmina  Armstrong — Wilhelmina  Armstrong. 
Where  is  she,  boy,  where  is  she  ?" 

The  dog  jumped  up  again,  but  not  so  exuberantly. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  responded,  "  Yes,  where  is  she  ? 
I'd  give  the  world  to  find  her." 

After  this  the  stranger  and  the  dog  strolled  about 
in  a  desultory  manner  on  the  hill  for  a  time  ;  then 
the  man  walked  with  a  resolute  step  down  towards 
the  nearest  house,  Lotos  following  him,  but  follow- 
ing with  an  air  that  seemed  to  say  :  "  This  is  only 
because  I  haven't  found  her  ;  if  I  find  her  I  sha'n't 
stay  with  you — not  a  moment." 

The  nearest  house  proved  to  be  more  than  a  mile 
away,  and  a  black  bog  had  to  be  crossed  or  skirted  ; 
these  two  preferred  to  cross  it.  They  came  out 
with  much  inky  mud  on  their  legs  ;  but  what  of 
that  ? 

The  man  rapped  with  the  top  of  his  stick  at  the 
door  of  the  house,  while  Lotos  waited  in  the  rear. 
Footsteps  came,  the  door  was  opened  the  space  per- 
mitted by  a  chain,  and  a  woman  peeped  out.  The 
man  took  off  his  hat. 

"  I  think  I've  lost  my  way,"  he  said.  "  Did  a  fam- 
ily of  Armstrongs  ever  live  in  this  neighborhood?" 

She  unchained  the  door.  This  wasn't  a  tramp ;  at 
least,  not  the  kind  she  feared. 

"  Armstrongs  ?"  she  repeated.  She  turned  her  head 
and  called  back  through  the  entry,  "  Mother,  did  any 
Armstrongs  ever  live  round  here  ?" 

4 


A   LOST   DOG 

A  fat  woman  in  a  calico  wrapper,  with  the  sleeves 
pinned  up  at  the  shoulders,  came  forward,  a  foam  of 
soap-suds  dropping  from  her  hands  as  she  stepped. 
She  looked  at  the  man  with  a  prolonged  curiosity 
before  she  replied  : 

"  Seems  to  me — why,  let  me  see — there  was  a  fam- 
ily of  that  name  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, but  that's  more'n  ten  miles  away.  You  must 
have  taken  the  wrong  turn  at  the  corners — lots  of 
folks  take  the  wrong  turn  at  the  corners." 

"  I  came  through  the  woods  and  the  fields." 

"  You  did  ?  Wall,  I  don't  wonder  you  got  out  the 
way.  You  must  have  had  a  dretful  tramp.  Was  it 
John  Armstrong  you  wanted?" 

"  It  was  Lemuel  Armstrong's  family." 

"  Lemuel  ? — Lemuel's  dead.  I'm  sure  I  heard  he 
died  some  years  ago.  I  don't  know  much  'bout  'em. 
There  was  a  daughter,  wa'n't  there?" 

"Yes." 

"  Didn't  I  hear  something  'bout  an  Armstrong 
girl's  tryin'  to  be  a  singer,  Matty  ?"  to  her  daughter ; 
but  Matty  wasn't  sure,  she  didn't  quite  know,  still 
it  did  seem  as  if  she  had  heard  some  such  thing ;  she 
guessed  that  "it  hadn't  amounted  to  anything,  or 
there'd  been  more  talk." 

The  stranger  inquired  the  way  to  the  other  side  of 
the  mountain. 

The  elder  woman,  with  the  soap  and  water  now 
somewhat  dried  on  her  hands,  left  the  house  that  she 
might  more  conveniently  give  her  directions.  She 
flung  her  apron  up  over  her  shoulders,  saying  as 
she  did  so  that  "she'd  be'n  over  the  wash-tub,  and 
was  always  afraid  of  taking  cold  when  she  was  so 
sweaty." 

Instead  of  directing,  she  inquired : 

5 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"  D'you  know  Lem  Armstrong's  family  ?" 

'  A  little." 

"Was  it  true,  then,  that  his  wife  was  kinder  relig- 
ious crazy  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  it." 

"P'r'aps  'twas  since  you  knew  them,  then,  and 
p'r'aps  there  wa'n't  nothin'  in  it,  anyway.  You  can't 
tell  much  by  what  you  hear,  can  you  ?" 

The  man  murmured  a  negative.  He  was  evident- 
ly trying  to  conceal  his  impatience.  Lotos  was  ex- 
amining the  woman's  skirts. 

"  Does  your  dog  bite  ?"  she  asked. 

"Occasionally  ;  he  sometimes  gnaws  women  a  lit- 
tle, but  nothing  to  amount  to  much." 

The  speaker's  gravity  was  perfect. 

The  woman  shrank  away. 

"  My  gracious!  I  don't  want  him  to  gnaw  me," 
she  exclaimed.  She  hurried  into  the  house  and  shut 
the  door.  It  was  immediately  struck  impatiently 
with  a  stick  and  was  opened  a  small  space. 

"  You  haven't  directed  me,  madam,"  said  the  man. 
"  Lotos,  come  here !"  as  the  dog  put  a  foot  on  the 
step-stone. 

44  Go  down  the  road  'n'  turn  to  your  left ;  keep 
on  awhile  till  you  come  to  two  roads  —  the  left 
one  '11 — " 

"Mar,"  from  the  daughter,  who  had  again  come 
into  the  entry,  "you  shouldn't  tell  him  that  way; 
it  '11  only  confuse  him.  The  left — " 

This  was  the  beginning  of  an  altercation  between 
the  two  women,  and  when,  at  the  end  of  a  few  min- 
utes, the  mother,  who  had  conquered,  turned  again 
to  the  crack  in  the  door,  she  found  herself  addressing 
space. 

44  Law  !"  she  cried,  "  where  is  he  ?"  She  flung  the 
6 


A  LOST   DOG 

door  wide.  There  was  the  man,  with  the  dog  behind 
him,  hurrying  along  the  highway. 

"  I  guess  he  couldn't  wait  for  us  to  have  our  quar- 
rel out,"  was  the  shrewd  response. 

The  next  house  was  nearly  half  a  mile  away.  The 
stranger  walked  now  as  if  possessed  by  a  keen  impa- 
tience. He  found  a  man  digging  potatoes  in  a  gar- 
den-patch. This  man  asked  only  a  few  preliminary 
questions  before  he  gave  the  desired  information.  He 
ended  by  saying,  "It  wa'n't  much  use  to  try  to  find 
Lem  Armstrong's  fam'ly,  for  he'd  heard  they'd  gone 
to  foreign  parts  after  Lem  had  died." 

It  was  a  long  distance,  and  this  man,  whose  name 
was  Hildreth,  had  already  walked  many  miles  since 
sunrise.  He  went  on  not  only  unflinchingly,  but 
eagerly.  He  shared  some  biscuits  from  his  pocket 
with  the  dog,  or  he  tried  to  share  them,  but  Lotos 
refused,  with  a  manner  that  plainly  said  :  "  Do  you 
think  I  can  eat  when  I  have  lost  Wilhelmina  Arm- 
strong? You  may,  being  a  mere  man;  but  I  can- 
not." 

So  Hildreth  munched  his  food  alone. 

At  last,  and  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  Hildreth 
came  out  in  an  upland  pasture,  where  he  heard  the 
sound  of  a  rapidly  running  river  and  the  more  dis- 
tant noise  of  falls. 

Lotos  snuffed  about  excitedly,  and  then  would 
have  made  a  dart  forward  had  not  his  companion 
suddenly  clutched  him  by  the  collar  and  held  him. 

"  No,  sir,  you  don't  leave  me  now,"  he  cried.  "  You 
shall  serve  to  introduce  me — she  is  looking  for  you 
— she  thinks  she  has  lost  you — I  will  restore  you — she 
will  be  obliged  to  thank  me.  Lotos,  do  you  know 
you're  a  lucky  dog  ?" 

Lotos  struggled,  but  Hildreth  held  him  fast.  He 

7 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

drew  out  his  handkerchief,  knotted  an  end  of  it 
about  the  dog's  collar,  and  thus  held  him.  When 
Lotos  perceived  the  direction  in  which  he  was  led, 
he  ceased  to  rebel,  and  trotted  cheerfully. 

Once  Hildreth  stopped  and  looked  off  towards  the 
river,  and  to  a  little  open  space  on  its  banks. 

"  There's  where  the  carriage  stood,  and  up  here, 
along  this  path,  I  saw  her  coming — the  first  time  I 
saw  her.  Gad !  what  a  sentimental  idiot  I'm  grow- 
ing !  Perhaps  I  shall  begin  to  snivel  presently.  She 
has  probably  forgotten  that  she  ever  knew  me." 

Though  he  spoke  thus,  Hildreth  did  not  quite  be- 
lieve this  last  assertion.  What  man  would  quite  be- 
lieve that  a  woman  had  forgotten  him? 

After  a  few  moments  man  and  dog  hurried  on, 
and  at  last  came  into  a  barn-yard,  and  thence  into 
the  wider  yard  of  a  farm-house.  The  grass  was 
tall  and  twisted  about  Hiklreth's  feet ;  the  dog  wrig- 
gled. A  horse  and  wagon  were  entering  the  yard 
from  the  road.  On  the  wagon -seat  sat  a  young 
woman.  An  older  woman  hurried  from  an  open 
door  of  the  house. 

"Oh,  mother,  have  you  heard  from  him?" 


II 

A   FREE   MAN 

THE  question  was  put  eagerly,  and  the  girl 
jumped  to  the  ground  and  caught  hold  of  her 
mother's  arm. 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  we  sha'n't 
hear.  He's  probably  killed.  I  do  wish,  Wilhelminy, 
that  you  wouldn't  set  your  heart  on  anything— if  we 
set  our  heart  on  anything  it's  almost  sure  to  be  taken 
away  from  us." 

"  Don't,  mother  !  That's  too  horrible.  But  I'm 
going  to  find  Lotos.  He  isn't  killed.  Oh  !" 

She  uttered  this  exclamation  as  the  dog  dashed 
forward,  threw  himself  upon  her,  and  straightway 
began  what  seemed  a  process  of  devouring.  The 
handkerchief  gyrated  with  his  movements  ;  the  man 
who  had  held  the  handkerchief  purposely  remained 
hidden  at  the  end  of  the  cow-shed.  He  leaned 
against  the  wall,  his  head  bent,  his  lips  compressed, 
hearing  what  passed  a  few  yards  away  from  him. 

"Oh,  Lotos  !  Lotos  !  where  have  you  been  ?  You 
don't  know  how  I've  suffered.  Oh,  you  dear  old  fel- 
low !  There  !  There  !  Don't  eat  me  entirely.  Yes, 
I'm  glad, too.  Yes!  yes!  But  what's  this ?  Where 
did  you  get  this  handkerchief  ?  " 

Silence,  during  which  Miss  Armstrong  detached 
the  handkerchief  and  examined  it,  not  with  any 
great  appearance  of  interest,  however,  and  the  man 

9 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

near  shut  his  lips  more  closely  yet,  and  grasped  his 
stick  with  a  tighter  grip.  He  was  wondering  if  his 
name  was  on  that  scrap  of  linen.  He  was  wondering 
also  if  he  had  done  well  in  coming.  Well  or  ill,  he 
had  fancied  that  he  must  come,  as  we  all  have  times 
of  fancying  that  we  must  do  a  certain  thing.  Later 
we  may  scoff  at  ourselves  for  our  impulses.  Are 
you  the  same  man  that  you  were  ten  years  ago  ? 
But  you  would  not  now  feel  the  slightest  temptation 
to  do  to-day  what  seemed  absolutely  life-saving  or 
happiness-giving  then. 

The  girl  pulled  out  the  corners  of  the  handker- 
chief. 

"  Oh,  here's  a  name,"  she  said. 

And  then  there  was  another  silence.  Lotos  had 
seated  himself  close  to  the  feet  of  his  mistress. 

The  elder  woman  gazed  without  speaking  for  a 
moment ;  then  she  asked  : 

li  Can  you  read  the  name,  Miny  ?" 

No  answer. 

"  Can  you  read  the  name,  Miny  ?" 

"  Yes." 

The  girl  looked  up  in  a  dazed  way,  as  if  what  she 
had  read  could  not  be  real. 

*  Well,  what  is  it  ?" 

44  It's  Vane  Hildreth." 

M  what  r 

"  Vane  Hildreth." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  did  not  speak  directly;  then  she 
advanced,  took  the  handkerchief,  and  said,  coldly: 

"  I  guess  you  must  be  mistaken." 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  remark,  and  the  elder 
woman  read  the  name  for  herself. 

41 1  shouldn't  suppose  that  man  would  come  round 
here  again,"  she  said  at  last. 

10 


A   FREE   MAN 

She  did  not  look  like  a  person  who  would  often 
speak  severely,  but  there  was  a  great  bitterness  in 
her  manner  now. 

The  girl  made  n>o  reply.  She  stood  still,  with  Lotos 
at  her  feet.  The  horse  took  a  few  steps  towards  the 
barn  and  then  stopped  to  eat  some  grass.  One  would 
have  said  that  this  yard,  with  the  hot  September  sun 
lying  upon  it,  was  one  of  the  most  peaceful  places  on 
the  earth. 

The  sound  of  a  step  made  Mrs.  Armstrong  turn, 
but  the  girl  remained  quiet  with  that  extreme  still- 
ness that  does  not  denote  relaxation.  She  did  not 
even  move  an  eyelash  as  Hildreth  walked  into  sight. 
He  paused  a  few  paces  away  and  removed  his  hat, 
holding  it  stiffly  in  his  hand.  He  looked  first  at  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  then  at  her  daughter,  and  there  his  glance 
lingered. 

It  must  have  been  a  very  embarrassing  position 
for  him,  as  neither  woman  gave  him  any  greeting. 
His  face  became  paler  and  paler,  but  at  the  same 
time  took  on  a  set  expression  that  gave  a  sternness 
to  his  aspect.  Lotos  alone  looked  at  him  pleasantly, 
and  he  gave  an  inquiring  glance  at  his  mistress  as  if 
to  ask  what  was  the  trouble  now. 

Of  course  it  was  a  woman  who  broke  the  silence. 
It  was  Mrs.  Armstrong  who  spoke. 

"  Mr.  Hildreth,"  she  said,  "  I  am  surprised  to  see 
you  here." 

She  had  a  gentle,  sensitive  face,  almost  deprecat- 
ing ;  a  look  as  if  she  would  weep  over  the  suffering 
of  any  creature ;  but  now  she  had  the  appearance  of 
a  belligerent  bird  ready  to  ruffle,  and  peck,  and  die 
if  necessary. 

The  man  turned  to  her  as  he  replied : 

"Are  you?    You  should  not  be.    You  should  have 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

/ 

expected  me  sometime.  You  might  have  known  I 
should  come  sometime." 

His  voice  was  very  low,  and  it  was  somewhat  mo- 
notonous, perhaps  from  his  effort  to  make  it  steady. 

The  girl  made  no  sign,  but  there  was  in  her  atti- 
tude still  more  the  appearance  of  aloofness,  as  if  she 
were  unwillingly  present  at  something  that  did  not 
in  the  least  concern  her. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  "  I  believed  you  would 
stay  away ;  I  believed  you  would  be  glad  to  stay 
away." 

"Glad  to  stay  away  from  her?" 

There  was  now  a  slight  ring  to  his  tone.  He  was 
still  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand ;  he  was  leaning  on 
his  stick. 

He  withdrew  his  eyes  and  gazed  about  him  blank- 
ly. Since  this  girl  was  so  remote,  why  should  he  serin 
aware  of  her  presence?  He  was  frozen ;  and  yet 
there  was  a  fire  in  his  heart. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  ruffled  her  feathers  still  more. 
She  took  a  step  forward. 

u  We're  not  used  tc  being  insulted,"  she  said. 

"  Mother  !"  from  the  girl,  but  she  did  not  turn  her 
eyes. 

Hildreth  moved  his  stick  back  and  forth,  scraping 
it  along  the  grass. 

Lotos  rose  from  his  place  by  his  mistress,  walked 
to  the  man,  gave  two  or  three  quick  licks  of  his 
tongue  across  the  fingers  that  held  the  stick,  hesi- 
tated an  instant,  then  walked  back  and  resumed  his 
old  position. 

Hildreth  fought  against  an  hysterical  sense  of 
choking.  For  the  moment  he  was  sorry  that  the  dog 
had  been  kind  to  him.  He  was  quite  sure  that  he 
would  need  all  his  self-control;  evidently  his  old 

12 


"'WE   ARE   NOT   USED    TO   BEING   INSULTED,'   SHE   SAID' 


A   FREE   MAN 

dog  was  the  only  being  here  who  was  going  to  be 
kind. 

It  was  of  no  use  to  ask  himself  if  he  deserved  that 
these  two  women  should  seem  otherwise,  for  our 
deserts  seem  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  our  grief 
or  our  resentments. 

As  for  Hildreth,  while  he  was  crossing  the  ocean 
that  he  might  seek  this  interview,  he  had  given  very 
little  thought  to  his  own  deeds  in  the  past.  He  was 
obeying  what  he  called  an  "  irresistible  impulse,"  and 
circumstances  had  now  made  it  innocent  in  him  to 
obey  this  impulse. 

He  had  considered  himself  a  very  good  fellow  in- 
deed that  he  had  made  a  fight  against  his  wishes 
while  they  were  not  innocent.  If  he  had  been  a 
knave  once  he  was  not  going  to  be  one  a  second 
time. 

He  was  not  thinking  these  things,  however,  just 
now.  He  was  only  holding  himself  as  firmly  as  he 
could,  and  hoping  that  he  could  at  least  seem  manly, 
however  weak  he  felt. 

"  Isn't  it  an  insult,  Wilhelminy,  for  Mr.  Hildreth 
to  come  here?  Have  you  forgotten  how  near  he 
came  to  ruining  you?  I  didn't  ever  expect  he'd  ar> 
pear  in  these  parts  again ;  and  now  he  has  come  I 
think  he'd  better  go  away." 

The  speaker's  face  was  red,  her  eyes  distended. 
And  yet  as  she  looked  at  the  man  she  felt  a  sudden 
pity ;  but  she  distrusted  this  pity.  She  supposed  he 
was  suffering ;  she  wished  that  she  could  help  him, 
but — why  didn't  her  daughter  speak  ?  Why  did  she 
leave  everything  for  her  to  do? 

"Mrs.  Armstrong,"  began  Hildreth,  "I  wish  you'd 
listen  to  me  before  you  condemn  me.  I  thought  I 
had  a  right  to  come.  My  wife  is  dead.  She  died  six 

13 


THE   ME LOON    FARM 

months  ago.  I  waited  six  months.  Though  I 
haven't  seen  her  since  I  saw  Miss  Armstrong,  I  felt 
somehow  that  it  would  be  more  decent  not  to  rush 
off  here  immediately,  as  I  wanted  to  do.  I  didn't 
expect  to  outlive  her.  Since  that  fever  she  has  been 
in  splendid  health.  She  was  killed  in  a  railroad 
accident.  I  tell  you  it's  horrible  to  know  that  some 
one  stands  between  you  and  all  chance  of  happiness. 
You  see,  I  couldn't  even  try  for  happiness  while  she 
lived.  And  it's  horrible  to  be  glad  a  person's  dead. 
But  I'm  glad.  Yes,  I  stand  here  a  free  man." 

Hildreth  had  talked  rapidly,  in  a  thick  voice.  He 
had  not  looked  at  any  one,  but  had  gazed  off  tow- 
ards the  hills  behind  the  house. 

When  he  ceased  speaking  no  one  responded,  and 
he  presently  began  again,  still  thickly.  He  appeared 
to  be  resolved  to  say  what  he  had  come  to  say,  let 
the  result  be  what  it  would.  This  time  he  addressed 
the  younger  woman. 

"  When  I  happened  to  find  Lotos  I  thought  'twas 
a  good  sign.  He  was  lost,  and  I  would  bring  him 
back  to  you;  you'd  be  grateful  to  me,  because  you 
love  him.  I  knew  you'd  love  him,  and  that  he  would 
make  you  think  of  me.  He's  a  good  fellow  ;  he  loves 
me  a  little  still,  but,;of  course,  he  cares  more  for  you. 
For  a  minute,  when  the  dog  recognized  me,  I  was 
happy.  I  don't  mean  that  I've  been  wretched  every 
minute  of  these  six  years.  I've  had  my  triumphs; 
perhaps  you've  heard  my  name.  But  I've  been  a 
fool  all  the  time.  There's  not  been  once  that  I've 
come  out  to  sing  to  an  audience  that  I  haven't 
looked  for  you  among  that  crowd  of  faces.  That 
was  absurd.  I  knew  there  was  no  likelihood  of  your 
being  present,  but  I  searched  for  you  all  the  same, 
and  I  sung  for  you.  I've  studied  fiercely ;  and  I've 

'4 


A    FREE   MAN 

always  sung  for  you  —  I  suppose  that's  why  I've 
moved  people  so.  But  I  don't  care  so  much  about 
all  that  as  I  thought  I  should  care.  One  tires  of  it ; 
one  tires  of  most  things.  But  I  had  the  thought  of 
you — that  thought  of  you — " 

The  man's  voice  was  more  hoarse.  He  ceased 
speaking  abruptly,  and  took  a  step  towards  the  girl. 

"You  had  no  right  to  think  of  her,"  said  the 
mother.  "  And  now  will  you  go  away  ?" 

Hildreth  did  not  answer  directly.  He  had  been 
speaking  to  Wilhelmina,  and  he  continued  gazing  at 
her.  She  had  maintained  the  attitude  she  had  as- 
sumed at  first. 

After  a  moment  Hildreth  turned.  He  put  on  his 
hat  and  walked  quickly  out  towards  the  road  ;  there 
he  paused  and  placed  a  hand  on  the  fence  as  he 
looked  back.  The  sight  of  his  ghastly  face  suddenly 
melted  Mrs.  Armstrong's  mood.  She  had  steeled  her- 
self as  long  as  she  could,  and  the  reaction  had  come. 
She  hastened  to  Hildreth ;  she  touched  his  arm. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  have  hurt  you,"  she  began,  "  but — " 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  apologize.  Good-afternoon,  ladies. 
Sorry  to  have  intruded  —  very  sorry  to  have  in- 
truded." 

And  Hildreth  flung  up  his  head  and  went  on  out 
of  sight. 

Lotos  ran  after  him  for  several  yards,  paused, 
gazed  wistfully,  then  trotted  slowly  back  to  the  two 
women  and  sat  down  again  in  his  old  place. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  made  a  few  uncertain  steps,  wring- 
ing her  hands  as  she  did  so.  She  began  to  weep. 

"  I  hope  I  wasn't  too  hard  on  him,"  she  said. 
"  Miny,  I  do  hope  I  wasn't  too  hard  on  him.  Why 
don't  you  say  something  ?  I  do  believe  you  haven't 
spoken  since  he  came." 

15 


Ill 

COUSIN   RAWDON'S  LETTER 

AS  the  girl  made  no  response,  her  mother  went 
to  her  and  grasped  her  arm. 

"  Wilhelminy,"  she  repeated,  "  I  do  believe 
you  haven't  spoken  since  he  came." 

"  I  had  nothing  to  say.  What  should  I  have  to 
say?" 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know — I'm  sure  I  don't  know. 
Mebby  I've  done  wrong,"  quaveringly. 

The  girl  moved  away  a  step. 

"If  you  wanted  to  hurt  him  you've  succeeded," 
she  said,  hardly.  "  You  never  did  have  any  charity 
for  Vane  Hildreth — and  you  have  charity  for  every- 
body else." 

Wilhelmina's  eyes  blazed  at  her  companion. 
Then  she  lowered  them  and  stepped  still  farther 
away. 

"  Don't,  Miny,  don't !  I've  a  good  mind  to  run 
after  him,"  with  a  swift  step  in  the  direction  Hil- 
dreth had  gone. 

"  No,  you  shall  not!" 

"  But  what  shall  I  do?     I  did  hurt  him." 

"There's  nothing  to  be  done.  Let's  stop  talking 
about  him." 

"But —  Oh,  dear!  I  always  teas  afraid  you'd  get 
to  loving  him  sometime,  even  after  his  deceiving  you 
and  having  you  go  through  the  form  of  marriage 

16 


COUSIN   RAWDON'S   LETTER 

with  him,  and  he  a  married  man.     I  hope  you  don't 
forget  what  he  did." 

"  Mother  " — the  girl  turned  full  upon  her  compan- 
ion— "I  tell  you  we  won't  talk  about  this.  Do  you 
think  it's  pleasant  for  me  ?  I  don't  love  Vane  Hil- 
dreth  the  least  in  the  world.  I  remember  what  he 
did.  Do  you  think  I'm  likely  to  forget?  Come, 
Lotos,  let's  go  down  by  the  falls." 

Lotos  rose,  wagging  and  expectant. 

"  We  must  unharness  the  horse,  though  ;  we  forgot 
him." 

Wilhelmina  took  hold  of  the  bridle  and  led  the 
horse,  who  had  wandered  to  the  other  side  of  the 
yard,  into  the  barn.  Once  within  the  barn,  she  sud- 
denly let  go  the  bridle  and  dropped  on  her  knees  by 
the  dog ;  she  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  pressed 
her  cheek  on  the  top  of  his  head. 

"  It  was  horrible — horrible — when  I  thought  you 
were  lost,"  she  whispered. 

Having  indulged  herself  in  this  embrace,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  take  the  harness  from  the  horse. 

When  she  and  Lotos  started  for  the  river  and  the 
falls  she  heard  her  mother's  voice  calling  her. 

"  Wa'n't  there  any  letters,  Miny  ?" 

Yes,  there  was  one  letter,  which  she  had  entirely 
forgotten.  She  thrust  her  hand  into  her  pocket  and 
drew  forth  the  envelope,  hurrying  back  to  the  house, 
where  her  mother  stood  in  the  open  doorway. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  came  forward,  but  she  did  not 
seem  to  notice  the  letter.  There  were  marks  of  tears 
on  her  face. 

"  Oh,  Miny,"  she  cried,  "  I've  been  prayin'  for  for- 
giveness if  I  was  hard.    I  don't  never  want  to  be  hard 
to  any  mortal  creature.     What  am  I  that  I  should 
judge?    What  am  I  that  I  should  pass  sentence?" 
B  17 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

"We  won't  think  of  it  any  more,"  responded  the 
girl. 

"  But  I  want  to  be  forgiven.  I  wish  you'd  come 
in  and  pray  with  me,  Miny,  just  a  minute — do!" 

After  an  instant's  hesitation  the  daughter  entered 
the  house,  and,  guided  by  her  mother,  walked  to  the 
old  lounge,  and  the  two  knelt  down  there.  The 
younger  woman  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and 
waited.  She  felt  tired  and  hard-hearted.  It  didn't 
seem  to  her  at  that  moment  that  she  cared  for  any- 
thing. She  vaguely  heard  the  passionate,  ungram- 
matical  petition  which  was  uttered.  When  it  was 
through,  Mrs.  Armstrong  rose  to  her  feet  and  looked 
down  at  her  companion,  who  still  remained  in  the 
position  she  had  taken,  her  face  covered. 

"  I  s'pose  you're  praying  for  me,  ain't  you  ?"  she 
asked. 

"No — no —   Really,  I  haven't  been  praying  at  all." 

Miny  rose  now.  She  smiled  at  her  mother's  look 
of  regret. 

"  You  know  I'm  not  given  to  prayer,  as  you  are. 
I  don't  understand  it." 

"  God  has  heard  me,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  solemn- 
ly ;  "  He  has  heard  and  answered  me ;  and  when  He 
comes  on  a  pillar  of  fire  in  the  heavens  He  will  not 
condemn  me." 

Miny  shrank  a  little  as  she  heard  these  words  and 
saw  the  speaker's  face. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  briskly,  "  you've  forgotten  the 
letter."  She  leaned  forward  and  kissed  the  rapt 
face  near  her. 

"Yes,  so  I  had.  Is  it  to  me?  I  didn't  know  but 
'twas  from  some  of  your  singing  friends." 

"My  singing  friends  are  not  thinking  of  me.  It's 
to  you." 

18 


COUSIN   RAWDON'S   LETTER 

"  Why,  it's  from  The  Junction !  I  don't  never 
have  letters.  Who  do  you  s'pose  it's  from?" 

She  turned  the  envelope  back  and  forth,  as  people 
do  who  have  no  correspondence,  as  if  they  must  dis- 
cover the  writer  from  the  outside  of  the  wrapper. 

"  Who  can  it  be  from  ?"  Wilhelmina  was  leaning 
against  the  casing  of  the  kitchen  door  ;  there  was 
something  listless  in  her  attitude. 

"  What  if  you  should  open  it  ?"  she  suggested. 

At  this  Mrs.  Armstrong  began  a  search  for  the 
scissors,  found  them  at  last,  and  carefully  cut  the  end 
of  the  envelope.  A  half  sheet  of  foolscap  was  drawn 
out ;  it  was  partly  written  over  on  one  side  in  firm 
characters,  with  ink  that  evidently  did  not  wish  to 
leave  the  pen,  as  nearly  every  word  seemed  to  have 
been  traced  twice  over. 

By  this  time  the  girl  herself  began  to  be  interested, 
but  she  waited  in  silence. 

"  It's  dreadful  blind,"  said  her  mother.  She  turned 
the  sheet.  "  Why,  I  do  declare  if  'tain't  from  Cousin 
Rawdon !  I  'ain't  heard  from  him  since  I  was  mar- 
ried. He  didn't  think  much  of  Lemuel,  'n'  Lemuel 
didn't  think  much  of  him.  There  wa'n't  any  love  lost 
between  'em.  What  can  he  want  ?  What  a  kind  of 
a  lawyerfied  hand  he  does  write  !  I  can't  make  out 
head  nor  tail.  You  read  it  to  me,  Miny." 

The  girl  took  the  sheet  of  paper;  her  keen  young 
eyes  leaped  down  the  page,  then  came  back  to  the 
top,  and  she  began  : 

"  COUSIN  SERISSA, — I  don't  suppose  you'll  guess  why  I'm 
taking  my  pen  to  write  to  you.  I  don't  send  many  letters  in 
these  days,  and  the  world  seems  to  go  on  wonderfully  well  if 
I  don't.  I  shouldn't  do  it  now  if  I  hadn't  just  heard  that 
your  husband  is  dead.  It's  late  for  me  to  know  this  ;  it  was 
natural  that  you  should  forget  to  notify  me.  We  have  passed 

'9 


THE    MELOON   FARM 

loii£  ago  out  of  each  other's  lives.  That's  the  way  of  this 
world.  And  I've  just  heard  you  were  left  poor,  and  with 
a  daughter.  I've  no  idea  where  you  are  now,  but  I  think 
this  will  reach  you  sometime.  I  ask  you  to  come  here 
and  live,  and  keep  my  house — you  and  the  girl.  My  wife 
died  long  ago — you  knew  I  married?  I've  been  getting  on 
in  a  barbarous  fashion  for  years.  I've  concluded  that  I 
don't  'relish  my  victuals'  this  way.  If  you  should  suit,  and 
I  should  suit  you,  I'll  do  well  by  you.  I  tell  you  that  in  the 
beginning.  I'm  rather  'forehanded.'  you  know,  but  I  mean 
to  take  the  good  of  what  I've  got.  even  if  those  that  come 
after  me  should  object. 

"I  suppose  you  must  have  faded — women  always  fade; 
but  how  pretty  you  were  !  As  for  me — but  wait.  Let  me 
hear  as  soon  as  you  get  this,  for  I've  made  a  resolve  to  live 
like  a  civilized  being  again. 

"  Bring  the  child,  of  course.  If  this  sounds  abrupt,  you 
mustn't  be  offended.  We're  older  now,  and  know  better 
than  to  be  irritated  by  trifles. 

"  I  mean  to  wait  six  months  for  your  answer,  for  you  may 
be  in  Australia,  for  all  I  know. 

"  Really  I  hope  you're  not  as  pretty  as  you  were,  because 
if  you  are,  you'll  be  all  the  more  shocked  at  the  grizzled  old 
animal  I  have  become. 

"  RAWDON  MELOON." 


"  Well,  I  never  !  I  never  did  !  If  it  don't  beat  the 
Dutch  that  Rawdon  should  have  come  to  life  again 
like  that  !" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  took  the  paper  from  her  daugh- 
ter's hands  and  gazed  at  it.  "  I  s'pose  he's  changed 
as  much  as  I  have.  I  know  he  used  to  think  I  was 
pretty.  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Miny,  that  Cousin 
Rawdon  thought  he  was  in  love  with  me,  but  I  must 
say  I  never  did  think  I  was  in  love  with  him,  though 
he  certainly  was  the  han'somest  man  I  ever  saw, 
and  such  a  style  !  You  needn't  laugh,  Miny.  Don't 

20 


COUSIN   RAWDON'S   LETTER 

you  think  there's  never  any  style  unless  it's  an  opera 
feller  or  a  city  feller  ?    There  is." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  sat  down,  and  her  mind  ran  back 
through  the  years,  gathering  up  items  it  had  dropped 
forever,  she  had  thought. 

"We've  spent  every  bit  of  money,"  she  said  at  last, 
rousing  herself.  "  I  s'pose  you  wouldn't  go  there  for 
anything,  Miny,  but  to  me  it  seems  providential.  I 
think  we  are  led.  Don't  you  think  we're  led,  Miny?" 

The  mother  gazed  anxiously  at  the  face  near  her; 
she  saw  that  the  eyes  had  an  introverted  look ;  and 
she  saw  also  what  struck  to  her  heart  anew,  that 
there  was  something  tired  and  listless  in  Wilhelmina's 
whole  aspect.  Why  should  she  be  tired  and  listless, 
and  she  so  young  ?  This  was  something  that  Mrs. 
Armstrong  had  made  the  subject  of  many  prayers  ; 
she  found  a  sustaining  comfort  in  those  prayers, 
though  she  had  not  yet  perceived  that  she  had  re- 
ceived an  answer ;  she  was  looking  daily,  almost 
hourly,  for  that  answer.  It  might  come  at  any  time; 
it  might  come  before  that  glorious  day,  now  fast  ap- 
proaching, when  the  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth  would 
appear,  coming  to  judge  the  quick  and  the  dead. 
For  years  she  had  been  looking  to  see  her  Lord,  and 
as  she  grew  older  that  hope  and  expectation,  instead 
of  growing  fainter,  became  more  and  more  vivid  ;  it 
seemed  to  her  that  it  was  underneath  every  thought 
and  every  fear.  Would  such  a  thing  happen  before 
the  coming  of  the  Lord  ? 

She  gazed  now  with  a  sort  of  timid  earnestness  at 
the  gfrl  standing  near  her.  She  had  seasons  of  won- 
dering if  this  girl  were  really  her  child,  the  child 
who  had  been  tender  and  caressing  and  protective. 
She  was  protecting  and  kind  now,  but  her  mind  was 
away — where  ? 

21 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

Six  years  of  foreign  life  had  rolled  over  Serissa 
Armstrong  and  left  her  precisely  as  she  had  been 
when  she  left  New  England.  She  had  lived  for 
Miny,  lived  and  ordered  her  life  so  that  Miny  might 
study  and  practise,  study  and  practise.  And  the 
whole  life  in  those  very  modest  l«>dgings  in  Paris 
had  been  like  one  long  dream  to  the  Yankee  woman 
— unreal,  not  life  at  all,  merely  waiting  and  serving 
and  looking  for  the  Lord. 

When  she  used  to  go  out  marketing  in  Paris  with 
her  covered  basket  on  her  arm  she  saw  in  a  kind  of 
daze  the  strange  scene.  She  had  been  able  to  learn 
only  a  few  words  of  the  outlandish  talk  going  on 
about  her.  Nothing  was  real  but  the  constant  mem- 
ory of  the  old  farm-house,  the  bright  or  bleak  sky 
above  it.  She  cooked,  and  washed,  and  mended 
for  her  daughter  and  herself;  she  did  everything 
with  her  own  hands.  How  cheaply  they  lived !  But 
their  money  held  out  —  Miss  Runciman's  money, 
Miny  always  called  it,  and  she  meant  to  pay  it  back. 
Would  she  ever  pay  it  back  now?  Mrs.  Armstrong 
wished  that  money  to  be  returned;  she  had  never 
believed  in  Miss  Runciman  ;  it  was  Miss  Runciman 
who  was  responsible  for  all  this  bother  about  learn- 
ing to  sing. 

But  now — how  strange  that  Cousin  Rawdon  Mr- 
loon  should  have  risen  up  out  of  the  past  in   this 
It  was  God  who  was  doing  it.    She  hoped  that 
Miny  would  decide  wisely — a  wise  decision  being  a 
decision  to  go  to  the  Meloon  farm.    That  was  a  haven. 

Rawdon  Meloon  was  not  a  very  near  relative, 
being  a  kind  of  third  cousin,  but  they  had  always 
called  each  other  by  that  term,  and  now  how  very 
fitting  and  proper  that  she  should  go  and  be  his 
housekeeper,  and  that  he  should  give  them  a  home. 

22 


COUSIN   RAWDON'S   LETTER 

She  still  kept  up  that  anxious  gaze  at  her  daugh- 
ter. She  had  no  real  expectation  that  Miny  would 
consent ;  in  fact,  she  was  sure  that  she  would  not. 
But  what  were  they  going  to  do?  Miny  was  re- 
solved to  earn  money  somehow,  but  how  was  it  to 
be  done  ?  And  they  really  had  no  right  here  on  the 
old  place.  Apparently  they  had  no  real  right  any- 
where. 

When  the  silence  had  become  unendurable  Mrs. 
Armstrong  suddenly  flung  her  arms  about  her  com- 
panion's neck,  and  repeated,  in  a  broken  voice: 

"Oh,  Wilhelmina,  don't  you  think  we  are  led? 
Please  don't  say  we  won't  go." 

The  girl  put  her  arm  around  her  mother's  waist 
and  smiled,  making  her  smile  seem  almost  genuine. 

"  Of  course  we'll  go,"  she  replied.  "Why  shouldn't 
,we  ?  I  only  hope  that  Cousin  Rawdon — is  that  what 
I  must  call  him  ? — will  be  pleased  with  his  bargain. 
Perhaps  I  can  get  straw  to  sew — but  perhaps  it  isn't 
a  bonnet -making  country.  Where  is  it?  I  never 
heard  of  the  man,  or  if  I  have  heard,  I've  forgotten. 
Yes,  let's  go — the  sooner  the  better.  I  can  help  you 
make  butter.  That's  why  I've  been  in  Paris  taking 
lessons  of  Marchesi,  and  almost  starving  you  to 
make  the  money  hold  out  —  I've  been  doing  that 
that  I  might  come  home  and  make  butter." 

As  the  girl  ceased  speaking  she  laughed. 

The  mother  drew  her  child  more  closely  to  her  as 
she  whispered,  pleadingly : 

"  You  mustn't  laugh  like  that,  Miny.  You'll  break 
my  heart  if  you  do." 


IV 
COUSIN   RAWDON 

THEY  lost  no  time.  Wilhelmina  had  taken  a 
few  things  from  their  trunks,  and  she  returned 
them  to  their  places.  She  harnessed  the  horse 
and  drove  to  Bidwell  Blake's  to  tell  him  that  he  might 
take  the  horse  back;  they  shouldn't  need  it  any 
more ;  he  had  been  very  kind,  and  she  was  greatly 
obliged  to  him.  Her  mother  had  secured  a  chance 
as  housekeeper,  and  she  was  going  with  her  for  the 
present;  she  might  help.  As  she  said  this  there  was 
something  in  her  face  that  prevented  any  questions 
from  getting  so  far  as  words. 

She  ordered  the  depot  carriage  to  call  for  them, 
and  the  people  along  the  road  early  the  next  morn- 
ing caught  a  glimpse  of  Wilhelmina  Armstrong  and 
her  mother  in  the  wagon,  and  you  may  be  sure  that 
they  saw  the  trunks  strapped  on  behind,  and  the 
brindled  dog  galloping  at  the  side. 

"  I  guess  that  Armstrong  girl  'ain't  turned  out  to 
be  a  singer  after  all,"  they  said,  "and  they  must  have 
spent  a  power  of  money  on  her,  first  'n'  last." 

"  The  Junction  "  wasn't  a  junction  of  railroads,  but 
of  country  highways,  and  it  was  reached  after  a  half 
day's  travel  by  rail  from  Boston,  and  then  a  two 
hours'  ride  in  a  stage-coach  to  the  hamlet  where,  amid 
hills,  and  near  a  quick-flowing  trout  brook,  where 
two  roads  made  four  corners,  the  two  women  alight- 

24 


COUSIN   RAWDON 

ed  from  the  coach  and  found  Lotos,  panting  and 
covered  with  dust,  standing  at  the  step  waiting  for 
them.  And  there  was  no  one  else  waiting  for  them. 
They  went  into  the  store  and  sat  forlornly  on  two 
very  straight  chairs  while  the  storekeeper,  who  was 
also  postmaster,  assorted  the  mail.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments the  store  was  crowded.  Everybody  came  there 
when  the  mail  arrived,  and  everybody  went  through 
the  form  of  asking  for  a  letter.  There  may  be  no 
one  in  the  wide  world  who  will  be  likely  to  write  to 
you,  but  there  is  a  certain  interest  and  excitement,  if 
you  live  in  the  country,  in  going  to  the  office  and 
asking,  "Is  there  anything  for  me?"  No — but  per- 
haps there  will  be  something  to-morrow.  The  very 
sight  of  the  envelopes  in  the  man's  hand  as  he  shuf- 
fles them  over  is  like  a  faint  electric  shock.  What  is 
there  in  them  ? 

Wilhelmina  and  her  mother  sat  there  waiting. 
They  did  not  know  but  Cousin  Rawdon  would  come — 
indeed,  Mrs.  Armstrong  expected  him ;  but  as  for  the 
girl,  she  could  not  have  said  that  she  expected  any- 
thing. 

"  You  see,"  said  her  mother,  leaning  forward  and 
whispering,  "  I  b'lieve  he  has  to  drive  four  or  five 
miles,  and  when  a  man  has  to  come  as  far  as  that  he 
may  not  be  right  on  time." 

But  as  the  moments  passed  she  grew  restless. 
Every  one  who  came  into  the  store  looked  at  the 
strangers.  One  woman,  with  a  thin,  inquiring  face, 
came  up  and  asked  if  they  had  friends  at  The  Junc- 
tion. Mrs.  Armstrong  drew  herself  up  and  said  they 
were  "expecting  a  friend." 

"  'Cause  I  was  goin'  to  say,"  was  the  response,  "that 
there  ain't  no  hotel  here,  but  I  take  folks  that  want 
to  stay  over  night.  Somebody  had  to  take  in  tran- 

25 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

sients,  and  my  husband's  dead  'n*  I  thought  I'd  do 
it.     I  live  right  across — that  house  painted  drab." 

Having  spoken  thus,  the  woman  turned  immedi- 
ately away,  as  if  afraid  that  she  might  be  thought 
to  be  soliciting;  she  absorbed  herself  in  watching 
some  very  slow  molasses  run  into  a  tin  can  she  had 
brought  which  a  half-grown  boy  was  holding  under 
a  faucet. 

"  I  suppose  there  must  be  a  connection  between 
having  a  husband  dead  and  taking  in  transients," 
remarked  Wilhelmina  to  her  mother,  who  only  said 
"  Hush  !"  in  an  anxious  whisper. 

Then  the  two  fell  to  watching  the  people  again. 
The  hamlet  stood  on  table-land — the  stage  had  been 
climbing  towards  it  for  the  last  few  miles — the  store 
door  opened  towards  the  west,  which  seemed  far 
away,  as  if  the  world  were  a  very  large  place  indeed, 
with  spaces  immeasurable.  The  sun  was  in  a  great 
vault  of  cloudless  western  sky.  There  were  ranges 
of  distant  hills  under  the  sun,  and  the  sun  appeared 
to  be  moving,  not  towards  its  setting,  but  to  reach 
those  hills. 

A  woman  came  hurrying  in,  the  first  person  who 
had  not  glanced  at  these  two  in  the  straight  chairs. 
She  had  a  deep  line  between  her  eyebrows,  and  her 
lips  were  shut  tight. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything,  Mis'  Wattles  ?"  in- 
quired a  man  who  was  sitting  on  the  counter. 

The  woman  shook  her  head,  without  pausing  on 
her  way  to  the  opening  through  which  the  mail  was 
passed. 

"Is  there  a  letter  for  me?"  she  asked,  shrilly. 
"  Ain't  none  ?  Wall,  I'm  expectin'  one  from  Boxton  ; 
I  want  it  quick  's  it  comes,  'cause  there'll  be  a  death 
in  it." 

26 


COUSIN   RAWDON 

She  went  out  as  she  had  come  in,  almost  running 
in  her  haste. 

Wilhelmina  felt  a  horrible  inclination  to  laugh, 
which  she  strangled  ;  then  her  eyes  stung  with  some 
abortive  tears. 

The  man  sitting  on  the  counter,  who  was  now 
paring  an  apple  with  an  extremely  large  jack-knife, 
looked  at  the  girl,  and  said,  slowly : 

"  You  heard  her  ?  Thought  so.  She's  be'n  comin' 
into  this  office  'n'  askin'  that  same  question  every 
day  for  more'n  a  year.  Son  died  sudden  in  Boxton 
more'n  a  year  ago — 'ain't  be'n  right  sence.  Folks 
hate  to  take  her  to  the  'sylum — seems  harmless. 
Are  you  expectin'  of  any  one  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  girl,  and  she  added  nothing 
to  this  monosyllable.  The  man  carefully  quartered 
the  apple,  impaled  one  segment  of  the  fruit  on  the 
point  of  his  knife,  and  thrust  knife  and  apple  deep 
into  his  mouth.  He  crunched  two  or  three  times, 
and  then  asked : 

"Who?" 

"  Mr.  Rawdon  Meloon." 

"  That  so  ?" 

Wilhelmina  nodded  while  she  intently  watched  the 
insertion  of  another  apple  quarter. 

Would  a  corner  of  the  mouth  be  slit  by  that  knife- 
edge,  which  looked  keen  ?  Apparently  not. 

"  Relation  ?"  was  the  next  utterance. 

"  Distant." 

"Oh!" 

When  the  apple  had  been  devoured,  the  man  snap- 
ped his  knife  shut  and  crossed  the  short  space  be- 
tween him  and  the  post-office. 

"I  say,  Bill,  is  there  anything  here  for  Meloon? 
These  women  are  waiting  for  him." 

27 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

"  There's  a  letter.  He  'ain't  been  over  for  two  or 
three  days." 

"  Le's  see  it." 

This  was  evidently  not  a  remarkable  request,  for 
the  letter  was  handed  out  ;  the  man  took  it  to  Mrs. 
Armstrong  and  held  it  before  her. 

"  Know  that  ?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  jumped. 

"  Why,  it's  my  own  letter  !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  You  see,  Meloon  hasn't  got  it,  so  he  ain't  ex- 
pectin'  ye." 

The  man  carried  the  missive  and  redeposited  it 
in  the  care  of  the  United  States  to  await  the  com- 
ing of  its  owner. 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  elder  woman,  turning  to  her 
companion,  "what  shall  we  do  now  ?" 

"Go  across  the  road  and  be  transients  until  to- 
morrow." 

The  man  who  had  made  this  discovery  was  shouted 
at  by  some  one  who  drove  up  in  front  of  the  build- 
ing, and  he  was  compelled  to  leave.  He  had  hardly 
gone  before  a  pair  of  large  gray  horses  attached  to 
a  hay-rigging  were  pulled  in  at  the  door.  A  com- 
pact looking  man,  with  a  broad,  flat  back,  wearing 
a  buttoned-up  blue  swallow-tailed  coat,  walked  in, 
planting  his  feet  squarely  as  he  entered.  His  face 
was  smooth,  save  for  an  immense  grizzled  mustache — 
ilar  "  plunger's  mustache" — that  curled  away 
over  his  cheeks. 

He  nodded  here  and  there,  but  he  didn't  pause 
until  he  reached  the  postal  window.  A  letter  was 
handed  out  to  him,  and  at  the  same  time  the  man 
said  : 

"  Ladies  here  waitin*  for  you." 

"Ladies?" 

28 


COUSIN   RAWDON 

The  new-comer  turned  about  quickly  and  stared 
at  the  two,  who  stared  back.  A  little  tremor  came 
over  the  elder  woman. 

"  It  can't  be,"  she  said  in  a  whisper,  blushing  as 
she  spoke. 

The  stranger  glanced  down  at  the  letter  ;  he  tore 
off  the  envelope,  but  took  a  step  forward  as  he  did 
so.  Then  he  doffed  his  hat,  revealing  thick,  half- 
gray  hair  tossed  up  from  his  forehead. 

"  One  of  you  must  be  Cousin  Serissa,"  he  said  ; 
"  now  which  is  she  ?" 

He  thrust  the  unread  sheet  of  paper  into  his  coat- 
pocket  and  extended  his  hand  to  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
who  took  it,  saying,  unsteadily  : 

"  You  do  have  Rawdon  Meloon's  way  of  smiling." 

"  But  nothing  else  that  was  his  ?  Now  I  know 
you.  But  who's  this  that  might  be  you  twenty  years 
ago — you  with  a  difference  ?  Is  this  Billy — Billy 
Armstrong?" 

The  girl  also  flushed  ;  the  hearing  that  name  made 
her  blood  stir  quicker. 

"  Mother  doesn't  call  me  Billy,"  she  said.  "  Father 
and — some  others  called  me  that.  How  could  you 
know  ?"  glancing  up  at  the  bright  eyes  fixed  on 
her. 

"  Oh,  I  know  a  lot  of  things,"  was  the  response, 
"  but  I  never  tell  how  I  find  them  out." 

As  he  spoke  he  shook  hands  warmly. 

He  turned  and  glanced  through  the  door  where 
the  gray  horses  were  standing. 

"  You  see  I  hadn't  hoped  you'd  come  so  soon.  I 
s'pose  you  can't  go  home  in  a  hay-rigging.  Too  fine 
for  that,  aren't  you  ?" 

"  It's  no  matter,"  began  Mrs.  Armstrong ;  "  we 
don't  want  to  begin  by  being  any  trouble." 

29 


THE    MELOON   FARM 

"  We  can  go  in  a  hay-rigging  perfectly  well,"  re- 
marked Miny. 

"  I  came  over  in  this  because  I  want  the  tires  re- 
set," said  Mr.  Meloon,  "  but  if  I'd  known  you  were 
to  be  here  I'd  have  come  in  something  else.  I've  got 
a  barouche,  we  call  it— one  my  grandfather  had.  I'd 
have  enjoyed  driving  over  in  that." 

He  gave  such  a  hearty  laugh  that  the  people 
standing  about  laughed  with  him. 

"  'Ain't  seen  you  in  that  barouche  this  thirty  year, 
Mr.  Meloon,"  said  one. 

"No,  of  course  you  haven't.  My  wife  wouldn't 
ride  in  it,  and  the  pretty  girls  I  might  have  asked 
have  all  gone  away." 

"Ha!  ha!"  from  the  men  grouped  about.  The 
women  smiled  ;  Billy  looked  with  a  growing  curi- 
osity at  her  mother's  third  cousin,  who  now  tramped 
to  the  door,  glanced  at  the  long,  springless  cart  that 
stood  there,  and  then  said,  aloud : 

"  If  I  only  had  a  few  bundles  of  straw." 

"  How  will  a  couple  of  chairs  do  ?" 

"  Guess  they'll  have  to  do.    Who'll  lend  'em  to  me  ?" 

The  storekeeper  hurried  up-stairs  where  he  lived 
and  brought  down  two  chairs  like  those  already  oc- 
cupied by  the  strange  women.  In  a  few  moments 
more  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  her  daughter  were  sitting 
in  the  cart,  their  one  big  trunk  behind  them,  Lotos 
at  the  girl's  feet,  and  the  stalwart  man  in  the  blue 
coat  standing  in  front,  driving  the  horses  down  a 
pitch  of  hill  which  led  out  of  the  village.  Already 
also  the  chairs  had  begun  to  slide  forward,  and  pres- 
ently, as  they  began  to  ascend  a  slope,  they  slid  back- 
ward. Lotos,  at  the  first  slackening  of  the  trot, 
leaped  off  the  end  of  the  cart.  The  girl,  watching, 
longed  to  follow  him. 

30 


COUSIN    RAWDON 

It  is  a  serious  thing  to  sit  on  a  chair  that  goes  at 
its  own  demoniac  will  back  and  forth  on  the  bottom 
of  a  long  hay-rigging  across  a  hilly  country. 

For  a  half  hour  the  two  women  bore  this  in  silence. 
Their  driver  was  greatly  occupied  with  his  horses, 
which  pulled  strongly  on  the  reins. 

At  last  Wilhelmina  stood  up,  and,  holding  fast  by 
a  stake,  she  leaned  forward  and  touched  the  man's 
arm.  He  turned  quickly,  and  the  absent  look  on  his 
face  showed  that  he  had,  for  the  time,  forgotten  his 
companions. 

"  Mr.  Meloon,"  said  the  girl,  "  if  you  please,  we'll 
get  out  and  walk." 

"  Walk  ?    What  for  ?" 

"Just  to  save  our  lives.  These  chairs  are  little 
fiends." 

Meloon  pulled  in  the  horses.  He  laughed ;  his 
eyes  had  twinkles  in  them  when  he  laughed,  and  the 
ends  of  his  mustache  nearly  touched  his  ears. 

"Jump  out,  then,"  he  said,  "and  I'll  take  along 
the  plunder.  Whoa !  Sh !"  as  the  horses  made  a 
movement. 

And  Wilhelmina  made  the  leap  that  Lotos  had 
taken  before  her,  and  then  she  helped  her  mother. 

"  How  far  is  it  now  ?"  she  asked. 

Meloon  glanced  about  him. 

"  We've  been  three  miles — it's  just  two  now.  Are 
you  good  for  it?" 

"Good  for  ten — just  from  sheer  gratitude  to  be 
out  of  those  chairs,"  answered  the  girl,  gayly. 

"  Straight  road  till  you  come  to  a  gate  that  I'll 
leave  open.  You  can't  miss  it." 

These  words  were  called  out  over  the  man's  shoul- 
der as  the  horses  dashed  on. 

The  two  women  walked  slowly  at  first,  the  elder 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

glancing  now  and  then  with  a  furtive  curiosity  at 
her  daughter. 

After  a  while  they  came  to  one  of  the  chairs,  which 
had  fallen  as  the  cart  had  ascended  a  hill.  Lotos 
sniffed  at  it.  Wilhelmina  set  it  upright  and  put  her 
mother  on  it. 

"  You  look  tired,"  she  said,  and  she  leaned  upon 
the  back,  gazing  off  upon  the  hills. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  sighed. 

"I  wonder  what  you  think  of  him,  Miny,"  she  re- 
marked, "and  I  wonder  how  we  sh'll  get  along.  I 
feel  kind  of — kind  of  skittish  about  it,  somehow. 
He's  changed  a  lot,  but  his  eyes  'n'  his  voice  are  the 
same.  I  never  did  see  such  a  mustache,  did  you? — 
only  on  them  Russian  officers  sometimes  that  we 
used  to  meet  in  them  parks  in  Paris.  Tain't  much 
like  Paris,  is  it?" 


V 

ARRIVAL 

AS  she  heard  her  mother's  question  Wilhelmina 
turned  towards  her  with  an  impetuous  move- 
ment, which  she  instantly  subdued. 

"No,"  she  said,  "it's  not  a  bit  like  Paris.  If  you're 
rested  we'll  go  on.  These  hills  are  hard  for  you." 

They  went  on  in  silence.  On  a  long,  level  space 
where  they  walked  easily,  Mrs.  Armstrong  suddenly 
caught  at  her  daughter's  hand,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Try  a  note  here,  Miny !  The  air  is  so  clear  and 
bracing;  try  a  note  here!" 

A  flash  came  to  the  girl's  eyes,  and  a  swift-going 
quiver  to  her  lips ;  but  flash  and  quiver  were  so  soon 
gone  that  her  mother  was  not  sure  they  had  been. 

"I'm  tired  and  out  of  breath,  mother,"  was  the 
reply. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  sighed  again. 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  you  are ;  I  hadn't  ought  to  have 
mentioned  it.  I  guess  we  c'n  go  on  now,  can't  we?" 

They  resumed  their  walk. 

"When  you  get  rested,  Miny,"  said  the  mother, 
after  a  few  moments,  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you'd 
want  to  try  a  note — should  you  wonder?" — wistfully. 

"  I  can't  tell ;  we  needn't  think  of  that." 

"No,"  acquiescingly ;  "we  needn't  think  of  that." 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  was  traversed.  The  sun  was 
now  shining  level  upon  their  faces.  The  damp,  pen- 
c  33 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

etrating  odors  of  the  coming  night  were  rising  from 
the  valleys.  The  road  was  entirely  solitary,  save  for 
these  two  women  and  the  dog. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  glanced  around  her;  no  one  was 
in  sight.  She  turned  to  her  companion  and  flung 
her  arms  about  her,  crying  out  as  she  did  so: 

"  It  does  seem  as  if  I  couldn't  bear  it,  Miny  !  'Tain't 
much  use  trying  to  bear  it,  is  it?  I  thought  you'd 
be  a  prima  donna  by  this  time.  They  said  you  would 
— they  all  said  you  would!" 

"  But  you  never  wanted  me  to  be  a  prima  donna, 
mother." 

"  That's  neither  here  nor  there.  It's  what  you 
wanted — it's  what  you  wanted.  Won't  you  try  a 
note  now?  The  air  is  so  pure  and  bracing;  won't 
you  ?" 

The  girl  was  holding  her  mother  closely  with  one 
arm.  The  other  hand  she  raised  to  her  throat  and 
pressed  it  there. 

"  I  can't,"  she  said,  hoarsely.  "  I  don't  dare  to  try 
— and  yet  I'd  give  the  world  if  I  dared.  Mother," 
with  an  abrupt  change  of  manner,  "how  foolish  we 
are.  Let  us  talk  of  Cousin  Kawdon  Meloon,"  smil- 
ing. "  We're  going  to  be  his  housekeepers,  you  and 
I ;  and  I'm  never,  never  in  this  world  to  be  a  prima 
donna.  But  I  may  have  one  ambition — I  may  try  to 
return  that  money  that  Miss  Runciman  flung  away 
on  me.  It  '11  be  a  long  pull,  but  if  I  last  till  I'm  an 
old  woman,  I  can,  perhaps,  do  it.  I'm  not  going  to 
think  about  anything  else ;  but  you,  little  mother, 
you  may  pray,  and  read  books  about  the  coming  of 
the  Lord,  and  on  these  hills  you  may  watch  for  His 
coming.  As  for  me,  I  haven't  decided  that  there  is 
any  Lord." 

"  Wilhelmina !"  sharply. 
34 


ARRIVAL 

"  Come,"  phlegmatically,  "  let  us  go  on." 

The  younger  woman  led  the  older  by  the  hand, 
and  soon  they  came  to  the  gate  which  Meloon  had 
mentioned.  It  stood  open  and  led  into  a  long  lane, 
at  the  end  of  which,  a  mile  away,  they  saw  a  large 
red  house  with  barns  and  corn -barns  in  the  rear, 
and  a  long,  open  shed  attached  to  the  house. 

"  That  must  be  the  place,"  said  Wilhelmina,  in  a 
business  -  like  voice,  "  and  if  we  suit  our  employer 
we'll  live  there  for  a  while.  I  shall  make  the  butter 
and  do  the  hardest  of  the  work ;  I'll  be  your  maid. 
Come  on.  Cousin  Rawdon  Meloon  is  a  man  I  haven't 
made  up  my  mind  about." 

An  hour  later  the  two  had  changed  their  dusty 
clothes  and  were  slowly  descending  the  stairs  that 
led  into  the  hall. 

At  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  a  door  below  was 
flung  open  and  Meloon  appeared.  He  stood  waiting. 
He  seemed  taller  and  more  square  in  the  house  than 
he  had  seemed  out-of-doors. 

"You've  done  rather  well,"  he  said,  as  they  ap- 
proached; "you've  got  through  'prinking' — is  that 
the  word? — sooner  than  I  expected.  There's  not  a 
woman  on  the  premises  besides  yourselves,  and 
hasn't  been  since  my  wife  died.  I  thought  I'd  have 
a  vacation  from  them,"  laughing.  "Not  but  that 
they're  useful.  I'm  ready  to  give  up  housework 
now.  It's  a  pull  on  a  man  to  have  to  sweep  and 
dust ;  not  that  I've  done  much  of  it.  I  hate  to  have 
to  wring  out  a  dish-cloth  ;  I  always  feel  as  if  I  want- 
ed to  fling  it  at  somebody's  head ;  I  used  occasion- 
ally to  throw  it  at  Trooper,  but  he  didn't  mind.  He 
would  pick  up  the  wet  rag  and  bring  it  to  me — 
didn't  you,  boy?" 

Meloon  extended  his  hand  towards  a  dimly  seen 
35 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

bulk  that  lay  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  This  bulk  tar- 
dily arose  and  came  forward,  revealing  that  it  was  a 
yellow  St.  Bernard  with  a  black  muzzle. 

44  He's  so  old  now  that  he  doesn't  take  much  notice 
of  visitors;  he  thinks  I  can  take  care  of  'cm  myself. 
He's  got  a  growl  or  two  left,  though,  hasn't  he  ?" 
as  Trooper  caught  sight  of  Lotos,  who  was  standing 
just  outside  the  open  door.  The  two  dogs 
looking  at  each  other,  muttering  and  bristling;  then 
Trooper  thought  better  of  it,  wagged  his  tail,  and 
gave  permission  for  Lotos  to  enter,  which  he  did 
immediately,  and  began  to  sniff  everywhere. 

44 1  hardly  know  where  to  take  y  1  Meloon; 

"each  room  is  worse  than  the  other.  We'll  try  this," 
walking  forward  through  an  open  door.  "  It's  get- 
ting dark  now,  and  you  can't  see  how  horribly  a 
womanless  man  lives.  Find  chairs  if  you  can,  and 
I'll  make  a  blink  of  fire  on  the  hearth.  'Then  I'll  kill 
a  chicken  and  fry  it  for  you  ;  I  s'pose  you're  starved." 

The  two  women  had  followed  their  host  into  a 
room  whose  blinds  were  shut.  Wilhelmina  stum- 
bled against  something  which  gave  out  a  melodious 
twang.  Meloon  sprang  forward. 

"  I  guess  you're  walking  on  my  fiddle,"  he  said, 
catching  up  an  object  and  carefully  putting  it  on  a 
chair. 

44  Better  stand  still  till  I  bring  a  light,  after  all. 
There's  a  piano  here  somewhere;  don't  run  against 
it.  Here,  can't  you  see  to  sit  down  ?" 

He  drew  a  match  from  his  waistcoat-pocket, 
scraped  it  across  the  sole  of  his  boot,  then  held  it  up 
while  his  guests  hurriedly  sat  down  in  the  first 
empty  chairs  they  could  find.  The  tiny  flame  re- 
vealed chaos,  then  went  out. 

44  Don't  stir  while  I'm  gone,"  was  the  command. 
36 


ARRIVAL 

The  two  women  heard  Meloon's  footsteps  clash 
away  on  the  bare  floor  ;  then  an  opening  and  slam- 
ming of  doors  in  some  remote  part  of  the  house,  and 
after  a  moment  the  shrill  and  distant  cries  of  fowl. 

"  Did  you  see  what  a  looking  place  this  room  is  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Armstrong,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Yes ;  but  why  does  he  have  a  fiddle  and  a  piano?" 

"  Oh,  he's  real  musical  ;  at  least,  he  used  to  be." 

The  girl  drew  a  deep  breath,  but  she  said  nothing. 

They  seemed  to  wait  a  long  time  there  in  the  dark- 
ness— so  long,  in  fact,  that  they  began  to  wonder 
if  they  had  been  forgotten.  They  remembered  that 
they  were  hungry  ;  possibly  they  were  assisted  in 
this  remembrance  by  a  faint  odor  of  frying  chicken, 
which  gradually  diffused  itself  through  the  house. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  eat  the  chicken  and  never  think 
of  us,"  remarked  Wilhelmina  at  last. 

"  There  were  two  crackers  left  in  my  handbag," 
murmured  her  mother. 

"  And  the  handbag  was  left  in  the  cart,"  was  the 
response. 

Five  minutes  more  passed,  and  then  more  tramp- 
ing and  slamming  were  heard,  this  time  approach- 
ing. Meloon  entered  with  a  dingy  lamp  in  one  hand, 
and  on  his  other  arm  a  load  of  wood.  He  put  wood 
and  lamp  on  the  hearth  and  knelt  down  beside  them. 
He  began  whittling  kindlings  from  a  pine  stick,  not 
noticing  any  one.  These  shreds  of  wood  he  arranged 
artfully,  put  a  lighted  match  to  them,  then  sat  back 
on  his  heels  to  watch  the  success  of  his  fire-making. 
Without  removing  his  eyes  from  the  growing  blaze, 
he  made  this  inquiry  : 

u  Would  you  two  mind  eating  off  one  plate  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  least — so  that  we  may  eat,"  promptly, 
from  Miny. 

37 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

"  That's  what  I  thought,"  carefully  putting  on 
small  pine  sticks  so  that  the  flames  curled  up  among 
them.  "  I  find  I  have  but  one  really  clean  plate 
left  besides  the  platter  where  the  chicken  is  going. 
F«>r  myself,  I'm  past  needing  a  plate;  fingers  and 
thumbs  have  been  good  enough  for  me.  But  I've 
lots  of  cups;  you  shall  each  have  a  cup  for  your 
coffee,  and  each  a  spoon.  I'm  going  to  bring  the 
whole  spread  right  in  here  now,  for  this,  I've  de- 
cided, is  the  best-looking  place  in  the  house." 

Here  the  speaker  rose  from  his  knees  and  glanced 
about  him  as  the  big  blaze  revealed  every  part  of 
the  room.  It  was  desolate  with  thick-lying  dust, 
and  piled  with  newspapers,  books,  and  sheets  of 
music. 

In  the  dust  on  the  once-polished  top  of  the  piano 
were  long  paths  made  by  the  dragging  of  books 
across  it ;  over  the  piece  of  furniture  apparently 
made  to  hold  sheet-music  were  a  pair  of  pantaloons 
and  a  coat. 

"  It  does  need  dusting,"  remarked  the  man.  Mrs. 
Armstrong  gasped,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"  I  took  up  the  carpet,  because  I  felt  more  freedom 
on  a  bare  floor,"  said  Mr.  Meloon.  "  A  man  can 
scuff  round  easier  on  boards.  But  I  must  go  back 
to  my  chicken." 

Before  leaving  the  room,  however,  he  turned  to  a 
table  loaded  with  papers  and  books  ;  these  he  swept 
off  with  a  wide,  comprehensive  gesture  of  his  arm, 
and  they  fell  in  a  heap.  A  fragment  of  rosin  rolled 
forward  so  close  to  the  fire  that  it  began  to  melt. 

This  time  Meloon  returned  directly,  bearing  his 
platter  of  smoking -hot  chicken  and  his  one  plate 
turned  down  over  it.  He  went  back  for  coffee, 
cream,  and  cups,  and  then  they  all  ate  and  drank, 

38 


ARRIVAL 

at  first  hungrily  and  in  silence.  The  plate  was  piled 
full  and  set  on  Mrs.  Armstrong's  knees.  Trooper,  the 
St.  Bernard,  came  solemnly  and  somewhat  stiffly  and 
sat  by  his  master's  elbow,  taking  bones  and  swallow- 
ing them  with  mysteriously  little  chewing.  As  for 
Lotos,  he  stood  near  his  mistress,  watching  and 
drooling  with  unconcealed  impatience,  snatching  at 
what  she  gave  him. 

Wilhelmina  wondered  why  her  spirits  began  to  rise, 
but  coffee  and  food  often  produce  what  seems  a 
spiritual  effect. 

The  fire  roared  on  the  hearth ;  it  was  not  cold 
without,  but  there  was  a  chill  in  the  house  which 
these  flames  dispelled. 

"  I  just  perceive,"  said  Meloon,  "  that  there  is  no 
bread.  Have  you  missed  bread,  Cousin  Serissa  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  hesitatingly. 

"  Too  bad.  I  baked  bread  yesterday.  It  was  flour, 
and  water,  and  saleratus.  After  I  put  it  in  the  oven 
I  forgot  it.  This  morning  I  remembered  it,  but  to 
me  it  did  not  look  appetizing,  so  I  forgot  it  again. 
Indian  meal  I  have  subdued,  but  flour — well,  I  mean 
to  buy  bread  when  I  go  to  The  Junction,  but  the 
baker  comes  there  only  once  a  week,  and  I  don't  often 
find  any  left.  The  people  at  The  Junction  seem  to 
look  upon  baker's  bread  as  a  treat,  like  ice-cream — 
they  gobble  it  up  before  I  can  get  there." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  now  sitting  in  a  rocker,  and 
her  daughter  was  on  a  "  cricket  "  at  her  feet. 

Meloon  was  bolt  upright  in  a  chair  that  did  not 
look  strong  enough  to  hold  him.  The  firelight  was 
bright  on  the  group.  The  man's  eyes  dwelt  on  his 
guests  as  he  talked.  His  dog  was  beside  him,  and 
his  hand  was  often  on  the  yellow  head. 

The  girl  gazed  into  the  fire.  She  was  not  think- 
39 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

ing;  she  was  basking  like  an  animal  who  has  just 
been  fed  and  who  is  warm.  She  hardly  listened  to 
what  was  said  ;  she  did  not  care.  In  a  few  moments 
she  would  be  sleepy  ;  she  wondered  if  she  and  her 
mother  would  be  left  to  sleep  on  the  floor  in  that 
room  ;  they  could  cover  themselves  with  their  shawls 
and  put  their  heads  on  a  pile  of  papers.  Perhaps 
she  had  already  grown  drowsy,  for  she  must  be 
dreaming  that  she  heard  some  one  calling  her 
"  Billy." 

She  started  and  gazed  confusedly  at  Meloon.  lie 
i  hark  at  her  and  smiled. 

"  It  was  I  who  called  you  Billy,"  he  said. 


VI 

HOW  IT   WENT 

THE  girl  rose  to  her  feet  quickly  with  a  curious 
air,  as  if  she  had  been  summoned  by  some  one. 
She  stood  an  instant,  and  then  walked  to  the 
mantel,  where  she  leaned  an  arm.     The  blaze  had 
died  down,  leaving  a  heap  of  ruddy  coals. 

"I  guess  you've  been  asleep,  Miny,"  said  her 
mother. 

Miny  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 

"  Yes,"  she  responded,  "  and  I  dreamed  that  I  was 
kneeling  in  front  of  the  tower  in  that  scene  with 
Manrico,  and — "  She  roused  herself.  "  How  silly  of 
me  to  tell  a  dream !  I  hate  to  have  people  tell 
dreams." 

Meloon's  long  legs  were  stretched  out  towards  the 
hearth,  and  while  Wilhelmina  was  speaking  he  had 
been  looking  at  his  feet.  Now  he  raised  his  eyes  as 
he  said : 

"  I  was  there — I  was  in  New  York  that  night,  and 
in  the  fifth  seat  from  the  orchestra,  at  the  left  hand. 
I  wondered  who  it  was  that  had  taken  that  other 
singer's  place.  I  thought  you  a  bold  piece  to  try  to  be 
Leonora  after  that  other.  But  you  didn't  look  bold ; 
you  were  shrinking  and  afraid.  I  tell  you  I  was  in 
terested.  You  took  a  tug  right  at  my  heart-strings. 
I'll  bet  there  wasn't  a  man  in  the  audience  that 
didn't  feel  that  tug.  How  that  fellow  in  the  tower 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

did  sing  at  you  !  I  found  out  who  he  was  later.  I 
didn't  blame  him ;  I'd  have  sung  so,  too,  if  I  could 
I  don't  know  why  I  have  such  a  bull-frog  of  a  voice. 
I  didn't  wonder  that  the  people  rose  at  you.  I  asked 
who  you  were,  and  they  said  you  were  Billy  Arm- 
strong, a  prottgte  of  the  Runciman.  I  said  to  my- 
self: 'She'll  do — we'll  hear  from  her  some  day.'  I 
came  back  to  the  farm  here  the  next  day,  and  I 
haven't  btfen  forty  miles  away  from  it  since.  I  read 
the  papers  now  and  then,  and  I  used  to  look  for  a 
word  about  you ;  then  I  forgot.  There  isn't  much 
use  in  remembering.  Your  face  that  night  made  me 
think  of  something,  I  never  could  tell  what,  till  I  saw 
you  and  your  mother  together  over  at  The  Junction 
to-day;  then  I  knew  you  had  a  bit  of  a  look  like  Se- 
rissa  when  she  was  young,  but  I  never  thought  of 
your  belonging  to  her,  though  I  knew  she  married 
a  fellow  named  Armstrong.  Of  course  I  knew  that 
no  child  of  Serissa's  couid  by  any  chance  get  on  to 
an  opera  stage.  Odd,  isn't  it,  that  just  the  things 
we  know  can't  happen  do  happen." 

Meloon  drew  up  his  feet  and  crossed  his  legs,  clasp- 
ing his  hands  over  one  knee.  Billy's  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  him,  but  he  was  gazing  into  the  fire.  He 
tossed  up  his  head  to  throw  back  that  thick  lock  of 
grizzled  hair  that  had  a  trick  of  falling  forward. 

Now  that  the  flames  had  ceased  to  make  such  a 
glare  in  the  rooms,  the  lines  in  the  man's  face  were 
less  visible,  but  the  sort  of  granite  aspect  of  his  feat- 
ures came  out  still  more. 

"  For  instance,"  he  went  on,  "I  could  have  sworn 
that  the  girl  who  took  Leonora's  part  that  night 
wouldn't  ever  come  out  to  the  Meloon  farm  to  help 
do  my  housework — and  here  she  is.  Sometimes  I 
think  it's  quite  worth  while  to  keep  on  living  just  to 

42 


HOW  IT  WENT 

see  what  will  happen  ;  then,  again,  I  think  it  doesn't 
pay.  Serissa,"  turning  quickly  towards  the  little 
figure  that  seemed  to  shrink  farther  and  farther  into 
the  rocker,  "what  do  you  say? — does  it  pay  ?" 

The  woman  clasped  her  hands  as  she  answered  in 
an  intense  voice : 

"  Oh  yes,  it  pays  just  to  be  here  in  the  world  and 
see  what  the  Lord  will  do  with  you — and  maybe  the 
Lord  will  come  while  you  are  living  here.  Just  think 
of  that !  To  be  able  to  see  Him  with  your  mortal  eyes 
— see  Him  in  all  His  glory  descending  from  the  heav- 
ens with  the  angels  about  Him  !" 

The  girl  moved  uneasily  as  she  heard  these  words, 
but  she  did  not  glance  towards  the  speaker. 

But  Meloon  did  more  than  glance ;  he  turned 
squarely  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  the  faded  face 
that  had  once  taken  his  fancy ;  but  it  had  been 
more  than  a  thousand  years  ago  that  he  had  had 
this  fancy. 

"Do  you  go  into  trances, Serissa?"  he  asked,  with 
some  roughness. 

"  Trances?  No,  I  guess  not — I  don't  know,"  rous- 
ing herself  with  some  difficulty. 

Meloon  continued  to  gaze  at  her  for  a  moment 
longer ;  then  he  resumed  his  old  position  and  looked 
up  at  the  girl  by  the  mantel. 

"Why  did  you  stop  singing,  Billy?"  he  inquired. 
He  had  a  quite  direct  way  of  putting  questions,  and 
an  apparent  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  possibly  some 
questions  were  better  unasked. 

There  was  a  perceptible  space  of  time  before  the 
answer  came.  Mrs.  Armstrong's  face  became  anx- 
ious; she  fidgeted. 

"  Because  I  lost  my  voice,"  replied  Billy. 

"  But  I  want  her  to  try  a  note  now  she  has  come 
43 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

here,"  cried  Mrs.  Armstrong,  eagerly.  "  I  was  asking 
her  when  we  were  walking  up  if  she  wouldn't  try  a 
note.  The  air  is  so  clear  and  bracing.  Something 
happened  in  her  throat,  but  you  can't  tell  when  it  '11 
be  all  right  again.  I  tell  her  likely  's  not  it  '11  be  all 
right  just  as  sudden  as  it  happened.  Don't  you  think 
so,  Cousin  Rawdon?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Meloon — "  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  it."  He  raised  his  hand  and  struck  it 
sharp  down  on  his  knee.  "  I  vow,"  in  a  great  voice — 
"  I  vow,  that  was  devilish  !  Tell  me  about  it,  Billy. 
Were  you  in  public?  —  did  it  go  back  on  you  in 
public?" 

"Oh,  don't  ask  her!"  in  a  murmur  from  the 
mother. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  ask  her,  too ;  it's  no  use  wincing. 
Put  your  finger  down  hard  on  a  sore  placi  and  it 
doesn't  hurt  so  bad.  Were  you  in  public,  Billy?" 

The  girl  left  the  fireplace  and  began  walking 
about  the  room  as  if  movement  were  imperative. 

Her  mother  had  never  dared  to  speak  of  that 
time. 

Meloon  turned  and  threw  his  arm  over  the  back 
of  his  chair  that  he  might  the  better  watch  Billy  as 
she  tramped  quickly,  turning  aside  for  the  piles  of 
things  on  the  floor.  Her  hands  were  clasped  behind 
her;  she  was  white,  and  her  eyes  shone. 

"  Never  mind,  Miny,"  said  her  mother,  timidly; 
but  the  girl  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  Lotos  rose 
from  some  newspapers  on  which  he  had  been  lying, 
and  trailed  along  after  his  mistress,  remonstrantly, 
but  as  if  he  must  follow. 

"  In  public,"  said  Billy  to  herself,  instead  of  to  her 
companions.  "Oh  yes;  everything  was  as  humili- 
ating as  possible.  It  was  at  Milan.  Marchesi  said 

44 


HOW  IT  WENT 

I  could  sing — I  was  ready — not  that  I  had  learned 
everything,  but  enough ;  only  I  must  keep  on  learn- 
ing. It  was  a  magnificent  chance  —  the  manager 
pleaded  with  me.  I  was  frightened  at  first  when  the 
time  came,  but  I  got  over  that.  I  sang  gloriously 
— my  voice  obeyed  me ;  yes,  my  very  soul  sang.  It 
was  an  experience  to  give  one  wings.  I  could  have 
soared  to  heaven.  And  the  people  who  heard  me 
were  wild  with  enthusiasm  ;  it  was  victory,  intoxica- 
tion, glory.  I  came  out  for  the  last  time  feeling 
that  I  could  sing  anything — as  I  had  always  longed 
to  sing.  The  orchestra  dwindled  to  the  violins,  which 
were  to  accompany  me.  I  walked  forward  towards 
the  footlights  and  opened  my  lips.  A  kind  of  hoarse 
croak  came  from  them ;  it  was  as  if  something  had 
spun  itself  across  my  throat  in  the  very  instant  that 
my  lips  parted.  There  was  a  curious  movement 
throughout  the  house,  which  instantly  broke  into 
tumultuous  applause. 

"  I  saw  Marchesi's  face  in  a  box  at  my  right ;  I  saw 
it  the  instant  before  she  put  her  fan  up  over  it. 

"  When  the  applause  had  subsided  I  tried  again  to 
find  a  note.  That  same  hoarse  croak.  The  violins 
rose  louder  ;  then  the  orchestra  clashed  forth  at  its 
noisiest.  The  audience  was  silent. 

"  I  stood  an  instant  there,  blind  and  deaf.  Then  I 
walked  towards  the  wing,  and  somebody  —  I  never 
knew  who  it  was — caught  my  hand  and  led  me  some- 
where. 

"  There  was  a  cluster  of  forms  about  me,  and  I 
heard  some  one  say : 

" '  Of  course,  it's  only  temporary.     A  sudden  cold.' 

"  And  some  one  else  replied : 

" '  Only  temporary.' 

"I  drank  some  hot  bouillon  from  a  cup  held  to  my 

45 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

lips,  and  somebody  fanned  me  until  I  took  the  fan 
and  said : 

"'  I'm  not  warm.' 

"  I  broke  the  fan  and  dropped  it  on  the  floor.  I 
was  quiet,  though.  I  didn't  rave.  I  wouldn't  for- 
give myself  if  I  had  raved.  I'm  always  thankful  for 
that.  I  went  to  our  lodgings  with  my  mother.  That 
was  nearly  a  year  ago." 

When  she  ceased  speaking  Billy  walked  back  to  the 
mantel  and  again  took  up  her  position  there.  Lotos 
sat  down  on  his  haunches  at  her  feet,  and  gazed  into 
the  fire  with  a  melancholy  air. 

Meloon's  eyes  were  fixed  undisguisedly  on  the  girl. 
At  last  he  said  : 

"Of  course,  it  wasn't  a  sudden  cold." 

"  No." 

"Oh,  Miny !"  in  a  low  wail  from  the  mother;  but 
no  one  appeared  to  hear  this  wail. 

"What  was  it,  then?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  suppose  it  was  what  people  call 
fate.  Mother  says  it  is  the  Lord." 

"  It  wasn't  the  Lord,  either,"  emphatically  from 
Meloon.  "  It's  far  more  likely  to  be  the  devil." 

The  speaker  crossed  and  recrossed  his  legs  with 
some  violence  of  movement.  Billy  continued  to 
stand  by  the  mantel  somewhat  as  if  she  were  a  spec- 
tator of  herself. 

"And  what  did  you  do  then?"  he  asked,  after  a 
moment. 

"  I  told  you  I  went  home  to  our  lodgings." 

"And  after?" 

"After?    Oh,  nothing;  just  nothing!" 

"  But  didn't  you  try  to  get  back  your  voice?" 

"  Yes,  I  tried." 

"Without  success?" 

46 


HOW  IT  WENT 

"Without  success." 

Meloon  now  yielded  to  his  heretofore  restrained 
desire  to  rise  and  walk  about.  He  sprang  up  and 
took  two  or  three  steps,  kicking  a  chair  out  of  his 
way.  He  went  the  length  of  the  room  and  returned, 
taking  up  a  position  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire- 
place. 

"  It  '11  come  back,"  he  said,  in  a  loud,  assertive  tone. 
There  was  no  reply. 

u  I  tell  you,"  he  repeated,  "  it  '11  come  back,  per- 
haps just  as  suddenly  as  it  went — any  minute — 
who  knows? — perhaps  it's  there  now!" 

"  That's  what  I  tell  her,"  eagerly  from  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong. "  I  want  her  to  try  a  nqte.  The  air  is  so 
clear  here — and  it's  a  change,  you  know,  and — oh, 
Miny,  if  you'd  only  try  a  note  !" 

Billy  shook  her  head  ;  but  there  was  a  flush  com- 
ing to  her  face,  a  sparkle  to  her  eyes. 

Meloon  turned  quickly  away.  He  picked  up  a 
green  baize  bag  from  the  floor  in  a  corner  of  the 
room  ;  it  was  the  same  thing  that  Billy  had  stum- 
bled against.  He  drew  out  the  violin  and  began 
twanging  the  strings.  No  one  spoke  while  he 
screwed  and  twanged,  until,  when  the  fiddle  was 
tuned,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  girl's  face  and  said  : 

"  Now— the  scale  !" 

His  strong,  masculine  glance  commanded  even 
more  than  his  words. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  leaned  forward,  her  hands  clasped, 
her  features  tense.  She  seemed  to  be  murmuring 
something,  perhaps  a  prayer. 

As  for  Billy,  she  had  withdrawn  her  arm  from  the 
shelf  and  stood  upright,  her  eyes  on  Meloon's  eyes, 
her  head  slightly  raised. 

"  Now — the  scale  !"  repeated  Meloon. 
47 


VII 

A  HI£ED  GIRL 

THE  fiddle-bow  went  with  sonorous  softness  along 
the  notes. 

The  light  that  had  gradually  been  growing 
upon  Billy's  face  flashed  out  more  fully,  but  it  died 
instantly  when  she  opened  her  lips  to  emit  a  hoarse 
travesty  of  the  sound  that  was  st.ill  lingering  on  the 
violin  strings. 

To  her  mother's  strained  gaze  her  daughter's  face 
seemed  actually  to  become  black,  as  despair  is  called 
black. 

In  the  silence  that  fell  upon  the  group,  Meloon's 
hand,  with  the  bow  in  it,  dropped  to  his  side.  Mrs. 
Armstrong  had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  ;  as 
for  Hilly,  she  was  standing  in  precisely  the  same  at- 
titude which  she  had  taken  when  she  had  essayed 
the  note  ;  even  her  lips  were  still  parted,  but  she  had 
ceased  to  see  the  man  opposite  her.  After  a  moment 
she  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  room.  Just  as  she 
was  closing  the  door  her  mother  reached  her  side. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,  Miny  !"  she  pleaded. 

"  No,"  was  the  harsh  response. 

But  the  brindled  dog  pushed  roughly  by  the  two 
women,  and  was  without  the  door  when  his  mistress 
shut  the  latch  with  a  decided  movement. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  turned  away,  wringing  her  hands. 
48 


A   HIRED   GIRL 

"  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear  !"  she  cried.  "  What  will  she 
do  ?  Where  will  she  go  ?" 

"Do?  She  won't  do  anything,"  was  the  abrupt 
response  from  Meloon  ;  "  and  as  for  going  anywhere, 
there's  nowhere  to  go.  It  won't  do  her  any  harm  to 
wander  about  the  country  here." 

"  She'll  get  lost !" 

"  Pooh  !" 

Meloon  sat  down  heavily  and  thrust  his  hands 
deep  into  his  trousers  pockets;  he  frowned  into 
the  fire. 

"  Let  her  alone  more  !"  he  suddenly  exclaimed. 
"  Serissa,  don't  notice  her." 

"Not  notice  her?  I  can't  help  it.  You  don't 
know  what  you're  talking  about,  Cousin  Rawdon.  I 
wish  you  hadn't  made  her  try  a  note." 

"  I  thought  you  wanted  her  to  try." 

"  Yes ;  so  I  did.  I  don't  know  what  I'm  talking 
about." 

Silence,  during  which  the  two  were  listening  in- 
tently. They  both  heard  the  outer  door  open  ;  after 
that  it  was  perfectly  still,  save  for  the  murmur  of 
insects. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  watched  the  clock  ;  when  the 
hands  had  gone  over  the  space  of  ten  minutes  she 
rose  like  one  distracted. 

"  I'm  going  to  find  my  child,"  she  said,  in  a  loud 
tone. 

Meloon  rose  also. 

"  Can't  you  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  she  wants 
to  be  alone?  And  there's  nothing  to  hurt  her.  She 
isn't  afraid  of  sheep,  is  she  ? — or  of  a  stray  calf  ?  Let 
her  get  her  balance.  I  swear  it's  too  bad  !"  The 
speaker  pulled  at  his  mustache.  "And  she  was 
such  a  Leonora  !" 

D  49 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"Think  of  the  dew  !  It  must  be  sopping  wet  in 
the  grass." 

"  She  won't  know  it.  Well,  if  you  insist,  I'll  go 
myself.  Sit  down,  Serissa.  Whatever  you  do,  don't 
get  hysterical.  Billy  isn't  a  child  ;  and  she  hasn't 
gone  out  to  shoot  herself,  either;  or  jump  into  a 
pond.  I  say,"  as  Mrs.  Armstrong  hurried  towards 
the  door  again,  "  you  sha'n't  go,  for  then  I  shall 
have  two  women  to  hunt  up  instead  of  one,  and 
one's  enough — one's  quite  enough." 

The  man  looked  about  the  room  for  his  hat, 
could  not  find  it,  and  left  the  house  without  it. 

As  he  reached  the  outer  door  he  had  an  inclination 
to  turn  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  thus  make  tolerably 
sure  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  would  not  institute  a 
search  on  her  own  account.  But  he  did  not  turn  it. 

He  went  down  the  walk  muttering  that  he  was  an 
idiot,  a  donkey.  What  was  a  house  with  no  regular 
meals,  no  sweeping,  no  dish-washing,  everything  in  a 
heap  ;  what  was  all  that  to  having  two  women  ready 
to  fly  into  fits — that  was  the  disrespectful  phrase  he 
used — under  his  roof  ?  He  must  have  been  worse 
than  crazy  when  he  had  written  that  letter  to 
Serissa. 

He  paused  a  few  rods  from  the  house  and  listened. 

Where  was  that  girl  ?  It  was  infernally  rough  on 
her,  but  he  wished  that  she  hadn't  rushed  out  in 
this  way,  and  the  mother  going  on  in  the  house. 
It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  he'  were  to  have  unquiet 
times  ;  it  was  his  own  fault.  But  how  in  the  world 
i  man  to  tell  what  women  would  do? 

He  was  trying  to  decide  which  way  he  should  go 
when  he  heard  a  window  thrown  up,  and  then  Mrs. 
Armstrong  called  : 

"Cousin  Rawdon,  have  you  found  her?" 
5° 


A  HIRED  GIRL 

"  Oh,  the  devil  !"  cried  Meloon  in  a  whisper;  and 
then  aloud:  "  Not  yet ;  give  me  a  little  more  time. 
I  tell  you  nothing  can  happen  to  her  here." 

He  walked  on ;  for  all  he  knew  he  might  as  well 
turn  in  one  direction  as  another.  It  was  absurd, 
anyway,  their  running  after  her.  She  would  come 
back  when  she  pleased,  and  when  he  did  find  her 
she  would  probably  hate  him  for  coming.  At  this 
thought  Meloon  grinned  to  himself  as  he  strode 
through  the  wet  grass.  It  made  little  difference  to 
him  if  all  the  women  in  the  world  hated  him  ;  not 
but  what  they  were  useful — they  seemed  to  be  made 
to  wash  dishes  and  take  the  dust  from  the  tops  of 
furniture,  and  such  things  as  that.  But  he  had 
made  a  mistake  in  sending  for  Cousin  Serissa,  since 
her  daughter  turned  out  to  be  this  kind  of  a  person. 
He  had  thought  she  was  just  such  a  girl  as  he  saw 
down  at  The  Junction  :  one  who  put  on  a  clean  print 
gown  in  the  afternoon,  took  her  hair  out  of  the 
crimping-pins,  and  had  a  tight  frizzle  across  her  fore- 
head as  she  sat  at  the  window  watching  the  "  pass- 
ing," and  crocheting  elaborate  edging  for  petticoats, 
but  crocheting  with  an  eye  for  the  young  men  who 
drove  up  to  the  post-office  and  store. 

Why  hadn't  Serissa  told  him  in  that  letter  she 
sent  him  what  sort  of  a  creature  her  daughter  was  ? 
But  then  he  recalled  that  he  hadn't  read  the  letter 
-  until  after  he  had  the  two  safely  in  his  house ;  then 
he  had  glanced  through  it  while  he  watched  the 
chicken  frying  for  their  supper.  And  where  in  the 
world  were  they  going  to  sleep?  This  question 
came  to  him  with  great  suddenness  and  force.  He 
stopped  in  his  walk  and  ran  over  in  his  mind  the  dif- 
ferent rooms.  There  were  beds  enough,  but  for  all 
he  knew  they  were  moldy  with  dampness. 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

"  I  wish  I  might  bundle  them  both  off  to-morrow," 
he  said,  aloud.  "  Serissa  doesn't  look  strong  enough 
to  lift  a  kettle  off  the  stove ;  and  as  for  the  girl" — he 
whistled  a  shrill  bar — "  I'm  sorry  for  her ;  but  I  didn't 
import  a  couple  of  women  just  to  be  sorry  for  "em." 

He  had  reached  the  end  of  a  lane  that  led  upward 
from  the  back  of  the  barn.  The  moon  was  rising 
from  behind  one  of  the  eastern  hills;  it  showed  half 
a  dozen  cows  lying  in  a  group  near  the  fence  ;  Me- 
loon  could  see  the  dew  glisten  on  their  backs ;  some 
of  them  were  chewing  their  cuds,  turning  calm,  re- 
flective eyes  on  their  master. 

He  stood  there  a  moment  looking  at  them  ;  he  ad- 
vanced and  rubbed  his  fingers  in  the, dish-like  hol- 
low of  one  face,  saying,  in  a  half  voice,  as  he  did  so : 

"  We  c'n  get  along  without  humans  well  enough — 
can't  we,  Molly  ?  So — so — we  c'n  get  along." 

The  cow  reached  forward  and  rubbed  the  side  of 
her  nose  on  Meloon's  arm. 

Presently  he  walked  off,  now  going  quickly  until 
he  reached  an  eminence  in  the  field.  From  the  top 
of  this  he  gazed  all  about,  the  moon  showing  in 
black  relief  the  trees  and  the  house  with  its  barns 
and  sheds.  It  showed  also  a  huddle  of  sheep  in 
the  lee  of  a  long  building.  They  were  lying  as 
motionless  as  if  they  had  been  carved,  and  could  not 
move.  The  air  was  now  somewhat  chilly,  but  was 
sweet  with  damp  odors  of  growing  bayberry  and 
ferns.  Nothing  could  be  more  peaceful  or  more 
symbolical  of  innocence.  Perhaps  Meloon  had  some 
such  thought  as  that,  which  he  rejected  by  the  sud- 
den exclamation  : 

"  Pshaw  !  It  doesn't  really  mean  anything.  For 
all  the  looks  of  things,  there  might  be  a  murderer  be- 
hind every  tree." 

52 


A  HIRED  GIRL 

He  turned  himself  about  so  that  he  might  see  in 
another  direction.  This  time  he  became  aware  of  a 
figure  two  fields  distant,  in  what  he  called  the  "west 
pasture."  This  figure  seemed  walking  rapidly  away 
from  the  house,  walking  not  desultorily,  but  appar- 
ently with  a  purpose. 

Meloon  stood  an  instant. 

"  Now,  here's  a  go,"  he  thought.  "  Be  hanged  if  I 
like  to  chase  a  woman  round  in  this  manner,  as  if  she 
were  a  stray  heifer." 

He  ran  down  the  slope  and  across  the  intervening 
meadow.  He  went  with  long  strides,  not  minding 
the  young  willows,  but  crashing  in  among  them  and 
trampling  them  down.  When  he  had  vaulted  over 
a  fence  and  was  in  the  west  pasture,  he  stopped  to 
look  about  him  again.  Some  birch-trees  had  impeded 
his  view  ;  he  had  supposed  that  the  figure  was  by  this 
time  far  over  the  field.  Emerging,  dew-sprinkled, 
from  the  birches,  he  almost  collided  with  Billy,  who 
was  running  towards  him,  followed  by  her  dog.  She 
drew  up  just  in  time  to  prevent  herself  from  falling 
into  his  arms. 

"  Oh !"  she  cried,  and  then  stood  panting. 

She  was  evidently  greatly  excited,  and  as  evident- 
ly struggling  for  self-control. 

Meloon  remained  silent,  looking  at  the  girl,  whose 
eyes  were  lowered  and  whose  hands  were  shut  tight, 
hanging  at  her  sides.  She  was  perfectly  quiet  in  that 
way  that  indicates  excitement. 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come  after  me,"  she 
said,  at  last ;  "  but  there  wasn't  the  slightest  need, 
Mr.  Meloon." 

"  That's  what  I  told  your  mother,  that  there  was 
no  need,"  was  the  response.  "  But  she  was  coming 
if  I  didn't ;  then,  you  see,  after  a  while  I  should  have 

53 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

felt  it  my  duty  to  look  you  both  up.  I  said  to  my- 
self, better  one  than  two — and  here  I  am." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Billy,  giving  an  indefinite  glance 
around  her. 

"There  might  have  been  a  bad-minded  bull  here- 
abouts," now  remarked  Meloon.  "  I've  often  read 
that  it  was  proper  to  have  an  infuriated  bull  on  a 
rampage  when  a  heroine  strolled  in  a  field." 

"  But  I'm  not  a  heroine." 

"  Not?    You  have  some  of  the  symptoms." 

Meloon  wondered  what  he  was  saying  and  how 
much  of  a  fool  he  was  making  of  himself.  He 
raised  his  hand  to  his  head,  intending  to  draw  his 
hat  on  more  firmly ;  he  discovered  that  he  was  bare- 
headed. 

"  Bless  my  soul !"  he  cried.  "Didn't  I  put  on  any 
hat?"  He  ran  his  fingers  through  his  thick  hair, 
which  was  now  damp.  "  I  must  be  a  demented  old 
idiot.  Let's  go  back  to  the  house,  Billy.  You're  not 
going  to  ask  me  to  call  you  Miss  Armstrong,  are 
you  ?" 

"Ohno.no." 

The  two  began  walking  slowly.  When  they  had 
gone  a  few  rods  the  girl  stopped;  her  companion 
stopped  also. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  think  I'm  given  to  this  kind 
of  thing,"  she  said. 

"  It  would  be  inconvenient,"  he  responded. 

"Very,"  dryly;  "and  I  sha'n't  keep  it  up.  You 
ought  not  to  have  made  me  try  a  note,  as  mother 
calls  it." 

Her  tone  was  not  even  bitter.  "  However,  I've 
had  my  lesson.  Mr.  Meloon,  I'll  begin  house-clean- 
ing to-morrow.  I  can  make  the  best  butter  you  ever 
tasted.  I'm  as  strong  as  a  young  ox.  I'm  telling 

54 


A   HIRED  GIRL 

you  these  things  now  because  I  want  you  to  pay  me 
as  much  as  any  housework-girl  gets.  I  think  mother 
can  do  enough  to  earn  her  own  board.  I'm  in  debt, 
and  I  mean  to  pay  my  debts.  Do  you  think  you'd 
like  to  hire  me?" 

Meloon's  surprise  kept  him  silent  for  an  instant. 
He  had  expected  to  find  an  hysterical  girl,  and 
had  been  tempted  to  run  away  from  the  encoun- 
ter. 

"You  don't  believe  I'm  able  to  do  what  I  say?" 
she  asked. 

She  was  standing  so  that  the  moonlight  fell  upon 
her.  Meloon  had  a  feeling  that  he  dared  not  be 
sorry  for  her,  and  yet  he  was  sorry,  although  there 
was  no  emotion  visible  on  her  face. 

"  She's  got  pluck,"  he  was  thinking.  Aloud  he 
said : 

"  There  are  two  families  at  The  Junction  who  have 
hired  help  in  the  shape  of  girls  —  they  give  them 
each  two  dollars  a  week." 

"Is  that  all?  That  won't  be  much  more  than  a 
hundred  dollars  a  year." 

"I'll  give  you  two  and  a  half,"  hurriedly. 

"  No,  you  shall  not ;  if  that's  all  hired  girls  have, 
that's  all  I  shall  take.  It's  a  pittance,  though." 

,  As  she  said  this,  Billy  began  to  walk  quickly  again, 
and  Meloon  kept  beside  her.  He  was  wondering  and 
confused,  and  he  was  again  calling  himself  an  old 
idiot.  In  another  moment  they  met  Mrs.  Armstrong 
hurrying  distractedly  towards  them.  She  was  wring- 
ing her  hands. 

"  Miny,"  she  said,  in  an  unsteady  voice,  "  I  do 
wish  you  would  be  calm." 

"Why,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  "I'm  just  as  calm 
as — as  this  night."  She  came  nearer  and  put  an  arm 

55 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

over  her  mother's  shoulders.  She  glanced  at  Meloon 
as  she  said,  with  some  severity:  "  I  could  have  found 
my  way  back;  I  could  see  the  house  all  the  time. 
Because  I've  lost  my  voice,  do  you  think  I  have  also 
lost  my  wits  ?" 


VIII 
HOUSEWORK 

WHEN  Mr.  Meloon  awoke  the  next  morning, 
he  began  at  the  same  time  to  wonder  what 
he  should  get  himself  for  breakfast.    Then 
he  sat  up  in  bed  and  sniffed. 

Was  that  ham  that  he  smelled — frying  ham,  and 
coffee  ?  What  did  that  mean  ?  Oh — giving  himself 
a  shake — there  were  two  women  in  the  house ;  he 
hadn't  been  dreaming  that,  then.  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible that  they  had  already  begun  to  be  useful?  They 
must  be  very  clever,  indeed,  if  they  had  been  able  to 
find  the  coffee-pot ;  it  was  more  than  a  week  since  he 
had  seen  it ;  during  that  time  he  had  made  that  bev- 
erage in  many  different  vessels,  but  as  he  had  washed 
none  of  them,  his  curiosity  was  all  the  more  keen  as 
to  what  the  brew  was  made  in  just  now.  Urged  by 
this  feeling,  he  gave  himself  another  shake  and  hur- 
riedly dressed.  For  the  first  time  in  a  long  while  he 
glanced  into  the  mirror.  He  had  formed  the  habit 
of  shaving  himself  without  really  seeing  his  face. 
He  could  draw  the  keen  edge  of  his  blade  over  his 
cheeks  and  not  see  anything  but  the  glittering  steel 
and  the  gray  stubble  he  was  cutting. 

Standing  before  the  bit  of  a  glass  now,  he  reached 
out  his  hand  for  a  brush  and  attacked  the  shock 
of  hair.  He  grinned  satirically  at  himself  as  he 
did  so. 

57 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

"Women  in  the  house,  old  donkey,"  he  said.  "If 
they  do  get  me  decent  meals  I  reckon  I  shall  have 
to  pay  a  great  price  in  this  sort  of  thing.  My  cows, 
and  my  horses,  and  my  hired  men  don't  care  wheth- 
er my  hair  is  brushed  or  not;  but  womenkind  are 
different — womenkind  don't  see  below  a  man's 
skin." 

He  went  down  the  back  stairs,  took  two  milk- 
pails  that  were  turned  over  two  stakes  in  the  wood- 
room,  and  strode  towards  the  cow-sheds,  where  the 
cows  now  stood  in  that  peaceful  calm  which  is  char- 
acteristic of  them. 

Just  as  the  milk  began  to  ring  into  the  pail  be- 
tween his  knees,  he  thought  he  heard  his  name  pro- 
nounced. His  hands  ceased  their  quick  movement 
as  he  listened,  his  forehead  pressed  against  the  warm 
side  of  the  Jersey. 

"  Mr.  Meloon." 

Billy  was  at  the  bars  of  the  yard.  The  man  lifted 
his  head  and  turned  it  to  see  the  girl  in  a  calico 
gown  and  long  apron,  her  sleeves  pinned  up  at  the 
elbows. 

"  Well  ?ft 

"  Mother  wants  to  know  when  you'll  be  ready  for 
breakfast ;  and  if  you  like  your  eggs  fried  soft  or 
hard  ?" 

"  In  twenty  minutes — hard,"  was  the  response. 

Before  he  began  milking  again  he  heard  the  sound 
of  retreating  footsteps. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  like  'em  hard,  though  I'm  soft 
enough  myself." 

But  no  one  save  the  Jersey  heard  this  confession, 
and  she  would  never  betray  it.  She  reached  about 
and  drew  a  rough  tongue  along  the  shoulder  of  Me- 
loon's  jumper. 

58 


HOUSEWORK 

"  So,  bossy,  so,"  he  said,  gently. 

There  was  a  cleared  space  in  the  centre  of  the 
kitchen,  and  a  table  stood  in  this  space  when  the 
master  of  the  house  entered  a  half-hour  later.  A 
table-cloth  was  visible.  He  gazed  at  it  and  at  the 
plates  and  cups  and  saucers.  He  himself  was  shin- 
ing as  to  his  face  and  hands  with  soap  and  water ; 
his  enormous  mustache  was  combed,  curling  out 
over  his  gaunt  cheeks;  there  was  a  twinkle  in  his 
eyes,  but  deprecation  in  his  manner. 

"  I  can  never  live  up  to  this — never,"  he  said. 

"  Make  an  effort ;  we  are  to  have  napkins  to-mor- 
row. I  couldn't  find  them  this  morning,  though  I 
looked  under  the  stove,  in  the  wood-box,  and  other 
places." 

Billy  was  turning  the  eggs  and  she  did  not  lift  her 
head  as  she  spoke.  At  that  moment  there  flashed 
through  her  mind,  as  if  from  some  other  life,  the 
memory  of  that  day  when  she  had  cooked  eggs  for 
Leonora  Runciman  in  her  old  home.  She  always 
had  a  way  of  calling  her  meeting  with  the  prima 
donna  the  turning-point  in  her  life.  However,  few 
of  us  know  soon  enough  the  real  turning-point  in 
our  lives;  though  it  is  given  to  many  to  know  it 
too  late. 

"  Napkins  ?"  repeated  Meloon.  "  I've  used  the  sleeve 
of  my  jumper  so  long  that  I  doubt  if  I  can  take  to 
anything  else.  Where  did  you  find  the  coffee-pot?" 

He  was  standing  with  his  hands  on  the  back  of 
his  chair  gazing  about  the  room. 

"  I  haven't  found  it.  I  have  made  the  coffee  in  a 
quart  measure.  Will  you  sit  down  and  let  me  serve 
you,  Mr.  Meloon?  And  here  are  the  eggs  as  hard  as 
the  heart  of  the  world." 

"You  said  he  said  he  liked  'em  hard,"  remarked 
59 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  in  a  rather  worried  manner  as  she 
took  a  towel  from  some  muffins  and  brought  them 
forward. 

Meloon  broke  open  a  muffin.  Then  he  looked  up 
uneasily. 

"  If  you  two  don't  sit  down  and  eat  with  me  I 
shall  be  choked  by  a  sense  of  elegance.  I  tell  you  I 
can't  stand  it." 

"  But  you  must ;  you  pay  me  two  dollars  and  a  half 
a  week  so  that  you  may  stand  it.  I'm  not  above  eat- 
ing with  you,  though." 

Billy  saw  her  mother  seated  opposite  their  host ; 
then  she  took  her  own  place.  Glancing  at  her,  Me- 
loon was  not  so  blind  that  he  could  not  see  the  dark 
circles  of  languor  and  fatigue  under  her  eyes,  though 
her  lips  were  smiling  in  a  mocking  way  that  accorded 
with  her  words.  She  sipped  her  coffee.  There  was  si- 
lence for  a  few  moments.  This  silence  was  broken  by 
Billy,  who  remarked : 

"I  suppose  you  have  hired  men,  Mr.  Meloon?" 

"  Five,  at  this  time  of  year.  It  is  haying.  Do 
you  want  one  ?" 

"  Yes.  I'm  going  to  clean  house,  and  I  shall  need 
a  strong  man  to  move  things  for  me.  I  shall  have 
no  use  for  one  who  thinks  he's  too  masculine  to  wash 
windows  and  scrub  floors,  and  do  woman's  work.  I 
shall  not  need  him  for  several  days,  but  I  thought  I 
would  speak  in  time." 

"  I'll  bear  it  in  mind,"  was  the  response. 

"  Miny,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  when  the  two  women 
were  left  alone,  "do  you  think  you're  quite  respect- 
ful to  Cousin  Rawdon?" 

"  Perfectly.  I  had  to  adopt  some  kind  of  a  manner 
to  him,  so  I  chose  his  own." 

"  He's  a  different  man  from  what  I  thought  he  was ; 
60 


HOUSEWORK 

but  then,  I  never  did  understand  him.  Don't  you 
think  he's  kind  of — well — kind  of  distinguished-look- 
ing, somehow?" 

"  I  hadn't  thought." 

"  I  guess  it  must  be  his  mustache.  Don't  you  think 
it's  his  mustache,  Miny?" 

"  Probably.  I  wish  we  could  find  something  to 
clean  silver  with.  These  spoons  might  as  well  be 
iron." 

"  You  see,  he  didn't  use  to  wear  a  mustache  when 
I  knew  him  years  ago." 

Apparently  Billy  didn't  hear  these  words.  She 
was  on  her  knees,  and  exploring  in  that  place  of  dark- 
ness which  is  known  by  all  housekeepers  by  the  term 
"  under  the  sink."  Housekeepers  also  know  that  there 
are  times  when  almost  anything,  from  a  silver  cake- 
dish  to  a  battered  frying-pan  may  be  found  there. 
It  gives  a  sense  of  infinite  well-being  to  the  feminine 
head  of  a  house  to  know  that  under  the  sink  is  cleaned 
out,  and1  that  the  neighbor  who  tells  everything  she 
sees  might  be  allowed  to  explore  in  that  recess. 

"  He  didn't  use  to  wear  a  mustache,"  repeated  Mrs. 
Armstrong. 

The  girl's  head  was  in  this  dark  closet  and  her 
voice  was  muffled  as  she  returned : 

"Didn't  he?  I  do  believe  that  these  are  silver 
forks  in  this  iron  pot." 

The  two  women  washed  dishes  and  scoured  tin 
and  silver  all  day ;  they  scrubbed  and  swept  all  the 
next  day.  A  subdued  light  of  contentment  came  to 
Mrs.  Armstrong's  worn  face,  a  light  that  took  the 
place  of  the  resigned  expression  she  had  worn  all 
that  time  in  Paris.  In  that  brilliant,  wicked  place 
she  was  deprived  of  housework.  It  wasn't  genuine 
housework  to  keep  those  two  bits  of  rooms  clean,  and 

61 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

it  was  not  real  cooking  over  a  toy  thing  with  char- 
coal in  it,  or  something  hitched  on  to  a  gas-jet.  But 
this  large  old  farm-house — ah,  here  she  could  breathe 
*  deeply  and  be  herself  once  more. 

But  Wilhelmina? — the  mother  formed  a  habit  of 
glancing  often  and  furtively  at  her  daughter,  who 
worked  incessantly,  turning  her  hand  deftly  to 
everything,  seeming  never  to  have  an  idle  moment. 
And  how  cheerful  Miny  was!  The  mother  was 
thankful  for  that.  She  watched  sharply  to  see  if 
this  cheerfulness  were  put  on  ;  but  if  it  were  a  mask 
she  never  saw  beneath  it.  Sometimes  in  the  night 
Mrs.  Armstrong  rose  and  crept  softly  to  the  girl's 
bed,  and  always  found  her  sleeping  soundly.  Then 
the  woman  would  go  back  as  softly  as  she  came,  and 
lie  awake  praying  joyfully  and  ecstatically. 

It  had  been  a  great  trial  to  her  to  have  Miny  want 
to  learn  to  be  an  opera-singer ;  and  Mrs.  Armstrong 
had  never  believed  in  Leonora  Runciman.  It  had 
all  been  wrong.  The  Lord  did  not  approve  of  opera- 
singers,  and  it  was  the  Lord  himself  who  had  taken 
away  the  girl's  voice,  thus  saving  her  from  becom- 
ing one  of  those  creatures  who  sang,  but  did  not 
sing  praises. 

There  were  moments  when  Mrs.  Armstrong  be- 
lieved that  Providence  had  done  this  thing  in  an- 
swer to  her  prayers.  At  these  moments  she  was 
afraid  lest  her  daughter  should  find  this  out.  She 
had  not  asked  God  to  take  away  Miny's  singing 
voice,  but  she  had  asked  Him  to  prevent  her  from 
becoming  an  opera-singer,  and  He  had  chosen  His 
own  way  of  doing  it.  In  the  very  bottom  of  her 
heart  Serissa  Armstrong  believed  herself  to  be  the 
cause  of  Miny's  loss;  this  knowledge  both  exhila- 
rated and  frightened  her.  She  felt  that  she  held  a 

62 


HOUSEWORK 

mighty  power — the  power  of  prayer.  She  had  also 
a  dim  idea  that  when  the  Lord  came  in  the  glory  of 
His  might  she  could  explain  to  Him  why  she  had 
asked  this  thing  of  Him.  She  walked  about  the 
house,  working  all  the  time,  and  all  the  time  sur- 
rounded by  a  kind  of  cloud,  which  she  saw,  but  which 
others  could  not  see.  It  was  real  to  her  that  she 
mixed  dough,  and  baked  bread,  and  washed  floors,  but 
still  more  real  was  this  shining  of  light  from  heaven, 
this  conviction  that  the  King  of  heaven  was  prepar- 
ing to  come  to  earth,  and  that  she  must  be  ready. 

"I  must  be  ready." 

This  phrase  repeated  itself  in  her  mind,  and  oc- 
casionally she  pronounced  it  aloud.  Having  spoken 
it,  she  would  look  about  her  hastily  lest  some  one 
might  have  heard  her. 

At  last,  when  she  had  said  it  one  day  as  she  was 
making'  pies,  some  one  suddenly  asked  behind  her : 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  holding  up  a  pie  upon  which 
she  had  just  put  the  top  crust;  she  was  running  a 
knife  about  the  edge,  and  a  spiral  of  dough  was 
dropping  towards  the  cake-board. 

At  that  question  the  pie  slid  from  her  hand  with 
a  soft  crash  to  the  board.  She  turned  about  to  see 
her  cousin  Rawdon  standing  close  to  the  open  but- 
tery door. 

Perhaps  something  in  the  woman's  face  made 
Meloon  take  a  step  towards  her  as  he  repeated  the 
question  : 

"  Serissa,  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

She  advanced  towards  him  and  laid  one  floury 
hand  on  his  arm.  Her  eyes  shone  in  a  way  that 
made  it  a  slight  effort  for  him  to  meet  them,  but  he 
did  meet  them  with  strong,  steady  gaze. 

63 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

"  Don't  you  know,"  she  whispered — "  Rawdon, 
don't  you  know  that  He  is  coming,  and  that  we 
must  be  ready  ?" 

Meloon  stood  silent  for  an  instant ;  then  he  an- 
swered, in  a  quiet,  matter-of-fact  way  : 

"  If  you  are  talking  about  God,  I  think  you're 
mistaken.  I  didn't  know  you  were  a  Millerite,  Se- 
rissa.  I've  just  brought  in  some  of  those  early  tur- 
nips ;  I  wish  you'd  try  'em  for  dinner." 

He  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  kitchen.  Mrs. 
Armstrong  followed  him  to  the  outer  door  as  if  she 
would  speak  again,  but  she  only  stood  there  in  silence, 
the  sunshine  falling  on  her  rapt  face.  She  heard 
her  daughter  at  work  sweeping  up-stairs. 

"  She  doesn't  know,  either,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh, 
how  shall  I  make  them  know  ?" 

Lotos  came  sauntering  up  from  a  favorite  napping- 
place  under  a  syringa  close  by.  He  stretched  and 
yawned,  and  then  stood  gazing  at  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
inquiringly  wagging  his  tail.  All  at  once  he  raised 
his  head  higher,  pricked  up  his  ears,  gave  a  short 
bark,  and  galloped  away. 

In  the  room  above  Billy  was  leaning  from  the 
window.  She  had  a  white  sweeping -cap  on  her 
head  ;  this  cap  had  a  broad  frill  all  around  it,  which 
framed  her  face. 

She  had  now  been  a  long  time,  she  thought,  at  the 
Meloon  farm.  She  had  never  worked  so  hard  in  her 
life  before,  with  her  hands ;  and  her  hands  had  blis- 
tered and  recovered,  until  now  they  were  hardening 
without  blistering.  She  was  less  pallid,  and  there 
were  no  dark  marks  under  her  eyes.  She  was  hun- 
gry, in  spite  of  herself,  as  she  said ;  and  every  night 
when  she  went  to  bed  she  fell  asleep  directly.  But 
sometimes  she  waked  before  light  in  those  early 

64 


HOUSEWORK 

summer  mornings.  She  would  get  up  and  sit  by  the 
window  and  watch  the  day  come  ;  at  such  times 
something  would  seem  to  rise  within  her,  something 
uncontrollable,  and  she  would  cry  out  to  herself,  "  I 
think  I  could  sing."  But  she  did  not  try  to  sing. 

Now,  with  her  broom  in  her  hand,  she  watched  her 
dog  as  he  ran  across  a  field.  That  was  the  way  he 
always  ran  at  a  tramp  or  a  straggler.  She  looked 
farther  and  saw  the  erect,  stalwart  figure  of  Meloon 
walking  in  that  field  towards  which  the  dog  was 
running. 

At  the  right,  and  approaching  at  a  rapid  pace,  was 
another  man,  apparently  in  working  clothes.  Billy 
saw  this  man  come  near  Meloon,  and  the  latter 
pause  to  wait  his  arrival.  Then  she  turned  and  re- 
sumed her  sweeping. 


IX 

THE    NEW    HIRED    MAN 

MELOON,  in  the   field,  was  thinking  that  his 
Cousin  Serissa  was  a  little  weak  in  the  upper 
story  ;  and  had  it  really  paid  him  to  sow  that 
piece  at  the  north  end  of  the  potato-patch  with  car- 
rots ? 

"  Hullo,  Lotos,  going  for  a  run  with  me  ?" 

The  dog  came  to  a  sudden  stop  by  his  side,  and 
then  both  man  and  dog  watched  the  figure,  who  was, 
Meloon  thought,  his  neighbor  across  the  branch. 

But  no!  "  Who  in  the  deuce  is  he?"  asked  Meloon 
of  himself. 

A  young  man  in  rather  new  blue  denim  jumper 
and  overalls,  with  a  full  beard,  and  a  soft  felt  hat  on 
his  head.  He  had  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  but  when 
Lotos  came  sniffing  about  him  he  put  out  a  very 
white-looking  hand  towards  him  and  gave  a  low 
whistle  under  his  breath.  The  dog  leaped  to  his 
shoulders,  writhing  and  whining,  and  licking  his 
face. 

The  young  man  presently  thrust  him  aside,  say- 
ing : 

"That's  enough  — that'll  do."  He  glanced  at 
Meloon,  who  was  gazing  curiously  at  him. 

"  The  dog  seems  to  know  you,"  he  said. 

There  was  no  answer  to  this  remark. 

"  I'm  looking  for  work,"  said  the  stranger. 
66 


THE   NEW   HIRED   MAN 

'  Oh,  you  are  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  heard  you  had  a  large  farm,  and  so  I 
came  to  you." 

"  Haying's  mostly  over,"  said  Meloon. 

"  But  harvesting  has  hardly  begun." 

"  That's  true." 

Meloon  glanced  at  the  man's  hands,  and  the  owner 
of  them,  seeing  this  glance,  immediately  hid  them  in 
his  pockets  again.  But  he  drew  them  out  directly, 
saying,  with  a  laugh  : 

"  I've  not  been  farming  lately." 

"  I  should  say  not." 

"  But  I  can  farm  it  if  you'll  only  give  me  a  chance." 

"  What  wages  do  you  expect  ?" 

44  Whatever  you  please  to  give  me." 

"That's  odd.  People  aren't  generally  so  consid- 
erate as  that." 

The  new-comer  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mistake 
in  not  finding  out  the  ordinary  price  and  asking  it. 
He  stood  an  instant  undecided ;  then  he  said,  hur- 
riedly : 

"  Of  course  you  know  well  enough  that  I'm  not 
used  to  the  business — in  fact,  I  never  did  a  stroke  of 
such  work  in  my  life  ;  but  I'm  well  and  strong  and 
I  want  a  try  at  it.  Things  haven't  gone  right  with 
me ;  you'll  guess  that,  too.  I  wish  you  could  find  it 
in  your  way  to  take  me  on.  Give  me  my  board  and 
lodging ;  if  you  think  I'm  worth  more,  give  me  more." 

The  speaker  held  his  head  up  and  looked  Meloon 
in  the  face.  As  for  Meloon,  he  was  rather  surprised 
at  himself  that  he  immediately  wished  to  say  yes  to 
this  request.  Ordinarily  he  did  not  find  it  hard  to 
refuse  to  have  anything  to  do  with  a  tramp  ;  he  had 
no  sympathy  with  tramps  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  usu- 
ally was  inclined  to  kick  them. 

67 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

The  great  dog  Trooper  now  came  at  a  lumber- 
ing canter  up  to  the  group.  Meloon  watched  with 
keen  interest  to  see  what  Trooper  would  do.  The 
dog's  master  had  a  habit  of  telling  people  that  he 
would  give  a  great  deal  for  the  mastiff's  opinion  of 
a  stranger;  and  he  would  add  with  a  laugh  that  if  it 
went  against  his  own,  why,  he  gave  up  his  impression 
and  adopted  that  of  the  dog. 

The  animal  advanced  gravely,  with  an  air  as  if 
his  decision  was  of  value  ;  he  held  his  tail  stiffly 
upright  while  he  gazed  at  the  man  ;  then  he  stepped 
nearer  and  smelled  of  the  hand  that  was  extended 
to  him. 

"  Hullo,  old  fellow  !"  said  the  stranger. 

The  dog  sniffed  and  gazed  an  instant  longer ;  then 
his  tail  unbent ;  he  swayed  it  gently  to  and  fro, 
glanced  at  his  master  as  if  to  say,  "  I  don't  think  he's 
a  bad  sort "  ;  whereupon  he  sat  down  on  his  haunches 
and  contemplated  the  landscape. 

Meloon  laughed  slightly.  His  eyes  dwelt  for  an 
instant  intently  on  the  face  before  him. 

"  I  can't  help  thinking  it's  a  queer  thing  you  want 
to  work  for  me,"  he  said.  "  What  have  you  been 
doing?" 

There  was  a  slight  hesitation  before  the  answer 
came. 

"  Nothing — for  the  last  few  months." 

Meloon  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  don't  want  to  tell,  all  right.  I've 
no  business  to  pry  into  your  affairs.  It  hasn't  been 
my  habit  to  board  my  hired  men." 

"  But  I  haven't  any  home  about  here." 

"  Very  well.  You  can  have  a  room  and  grub  in 
my  house.  I  won't  promise  to  give  you  a  cent  the 
first  month,  but  if  you're  worth  it,  I  will.  Come  on 

68 


THE  NEW  HIRED   MAN 

now  and  help  me  fix  up  a  fence  the  cattle  broke 
through  yesterday." 

The  two  men  walked  away.  Lotos  gazed  after 
them,  then  trotted  back  to  the  house.  Billy  looked 
again  from  the  window,  saw  the  men  swinging  over 
the  field,  wondered  idly  who  was  Meloon's  com- 
panion. By  this  time  she  knew  the  neighbors ;  she 
knew  their  friendly,  informal  fashion  of  driving  a 
dozen  miles  from  their  homes,  taking  dinner,  and 
then  driving  back.  People  a  score  of  miles  away 
were  neighbors. 

There  was  something  soothing  to  her  in  this  re- 
turn to  country  primitiveness.  Already  she  felt  the 
healing  touch.  If  she  could  stay  here  ten  years,  and 
work  hard  all  the  time,  then — at  this  point  in  her 
thoughts  Billy  always  was  conscious  of  a  terror  and 
resentment  which  were  obscure,  but  strong. 

An  hour  later,  still  with  her  sweeping-cap  on,  its 
frill  flapping  about  her  face,  she  hurried  through  the 
long  shed  that  led  to  the  wood-house.  She  had  a 
basket  in  her  hand,  for  she  wanted  pine  kindlings. 
She  heard  the  sound  of  chopping;  it  was  Meloon's 
custom,  at  odd  moments,  to  split  blocks  of  pine  into 
small  pieces  for  the  sake  of  the  quick  fire  they  would 
make. 

There  was  a  smile  on  her  face  as  she  emerged  from 
the  long  shed ;  she  was  wondering  what  remark  Me- 
loon  would  make  to  her ;  sometimes  he  said  things 
with  an  unexpected,  sharp  flavor  to  them ;  she  rel- 
ished this  flavor ;  she  would  have  said  that  it  toned 
her  up.  She  had  already  come  to  depend  on  his 
kindness  and  consideration.  She  used  to  like  to  sit 
at  the  other  side  of  the  hearth  evenings  when  there 
was  a  fire  there,  and  watch  the  rugged,  strong  face — 
a  martial  face  she  called  it. 

69 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

Yes,  some  one  was  swinging  the  axe,  but  at  the 
instant  she  approached,  the  man  was  stooping  to 
gather  up  some  of  the  wood  he  had  split. 

She  was  within  a  couple  of  yards  of  the  chopping- 
log  when  she  stood  still.  She  trembled  slightly. 

Hildreth  lifted  himself  upright.  He  took  off  his 
hat.  His  face  grew  red  and  then  white. 

"You  here?"  she  said.  Her  eyes  wandered  over 
his  denim  suit;  they  did  not  immediately  return  to 
his  face. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.     "  Why  not  ?" 

She  did  not  reply  to  this.  She  began  to  pick  up 
wood  and  place  it  in  her  basket.  She  knew  that 
Hildreth  was  watching  her. 

In  a  moment  he  came  to  her  side  and  helped  her. 
He  piled  the  wood  high ;  then  he  lifted  the  basket, 
saying : 

"  I  will  carry  it  for  you." 

"  No,"  she  answered  ;  "  it's  not  heavy  ;  I'm  used  to 
taking  it  myself." 

She  took,  it  and  walked  towards  the  shed.  She 
walked  unsteadily.  He  stood  still,  his  eyes  upon 
her. 

Suddenly  she  set  her  basket  on  the  floor  and  turn- 
ed towards  him.  With  an  impatient  movement  she 
pushed  back  the  drooping  frill  of  the  sweeping-cap. 
But  with  that  movement  her  impatience  seemed  to 
end,  for  there  was  none  of  that  feeling  in  her  tone  as 
she  asked : 

"Why  did  you  come  here?" 

Having  put  this  question,  she  knew  instantly  that 
she  ought  not  to  have  asked  it. 

The  answer  was  prompt. 

"  I  came  because  you  are  here."  Silence  ;  then  he 
added:  "I  seem  to  live  because  you  are  living." 

70 


THE  NEW  HIRED  MAN 

Another  silence,  which  was  broken  by  Hildreth's 
saying,  with  some  recklessness : 

"I  can't  help  it  if  you  are  angry  with  me.  I  had 
to  find  you — then  I  had  to  come  here." 

"  You  are  very  foolish." 

"  No  one  knows  that  so  well  as  I  know  it." 

Though  her  eyes  were  lowered,  Billy  was  aware  of 
the  light  in  the  young  man's  face.  She  was  aware 
also  of  the  quick  change  in  the  aspect  of  everything 
caused  by  Hildreth's  presence.  There  had  been  calm 
and  a  growing  peace ;  there  were  days  when  she  for- 
got for  an  hour  that  the  ambition  of  her  life  had  been 
uprooted  as  if  it  were  a  weed  pulled  from  the  ground 
and  flung  out  to  die  in  the  sun.  Since  she  might 
never  sing,  she  was  thankful  for  even  a  moment's 
forgetfulness  of  the  longing  to  sing. 

Now  something  seemed  to  burst  in  her  heart  and 
let  loose  that  overwhelming  torrent  again.  With 
this  consciousness  she  grew  more  and  more  indig- 
nant. It  was  too  cruel  that  her  ineffective  past  should 
come  to  life  again  just  to  torture  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hildreth;  "no  one  knows  so  well  as  I 
know  how  foolish  I  am,  but  I'm  not  quite  such  an 
idiot  as  to  come  here  thinking  to  try  to  make  you 
love  me — that  takes  a  load  from  your  mind,  doesn't 
it?" 

No  reply. 

"  I  know  it  does.  I  don't  mean  by  that  that  I  don't 
love  you  as  much — more — than  I  ever  did.  I  expect 
I'm  going  to  do  that  as  long  as  I  live.  But  I  give  up 
hoping." 

"Why  did  you  come,  then?" 

Billy  raised  her  eyes ;  again  she  pushed  back  the 
cap-frill. 

Hildreth  laughed. 


THE   ME  LOON    FARM 

"  You've  no  idea  how  odd  and  attractive  you  look 
in  that  cap.  It's  as  if  you  were  taking  some  kind  of 
a  part  and  had  dressed  for  it  in  that  quaint  thing." 

"  You  think  of  the  stage  so  much." 

"Yes;  you  used  to  think  of  the  stage." 

"  But  I've  given  that  up.  I  am  getting  used  to  for- 
getting it." 

Billy  felt  more  free.    She  believed  Hildreth's  words. 

"  I  heard  you  had  lost  your  voice."  Hildreth  spoke 
solemnly.  "That  is  why  I  came." 

She  turned  upon  him  in  utmost  surprise. 

"Why  you  came?" 

"Yes.  Give  me  a  chance  to  tell  you  about  it.  You 
see  I  can't  speak  now." 

Footsteps  were  coming  from  the  yard.  Meloon 
entered.  He  glanced  in  surprise  at  the  two.  To  her 
great  annoyance,  Billy  found  herself  blushing  deeply. 

Hildreth  hastened  to  say:  "I've  found  an  old  ac- 
quaintance. I  had  the  honor  to  know  Miss  Arm- 
strong a  few  years  ago." 

"Oh,  you  did?" 

Meloon  took  up  the  axe  which  Hildreth  had 
dropped.  He  seemed  to  examine  the  edge  with 
great  care ;  he  pressed  his  thumb  on  it.  For  some 
reason  Billy  could  not  walk  off  with  her  basket;  she 
remained  standing,  her  face  turned  towards  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house.  Suddenly  he  lifted  his  head. 

"That  accounts,"  he  remarked.  "Now  I  know 
why  you  came  here  to  be  a  farmer" — a  slight  laugh, 
with  a  movement  of  one  hand  towards  Billy.  "  Per- 
haps you  knew  he  was  coming?"  to  her. 

But  before  she  could  reply  Hildreth  exclaimed : 

"  No ;  she  knew  nothing  about  me — nothing  about 
my  intentions." 

Meloon  put  down  the  axe.     He  looked  at  Billy. 
7- 


THE   NEW   HIRED   MAN 

"Possibly  you  don't  want  him  to  stay?  In  that 
case  he  shall  tramp." 

Hildreth  looked  imploringly  at  the  girl.  Though 
she  stood  quiet,  with  downcast  eyes,  she  felt  the  in- 
tense pleading  of  that  look,  felt  it  with  a  mingling 
of  softness  and  resentment. 

She  raised  her  eyes  towards  Meloon  as  she  an- 
swered, coldly: 

u  Indeed,  Mr.  Meloon,  you  need  not  consider  me 
in  the  matter." 

And  now  she  was  able  to  take  her  basket  of  wood 
and  go  away  with  it. 

The  two  men  stood  a  moment  without  speaking. 
They  were  gazing  at  each  other,  the  younger  man 
on  the  defensive  plainly,  with  an  angry  flush  rising 
to  his  forehead. 

"Well?"  at  last  from  Meloon. 

Hildreth  made  an  uneasy  movement.  Finally  he 
exclaimed: 

"  I  don't  know  that  I'm  answerable  to  you  for  my 
actions." 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

Meloon  gently  stroked  his  mustache. 

Hildreth  kicked  at  the  wood,  sending  a  piece  fly- 
ing across  the  floor.  Then  he  drew  himself  up  quick- 
ly, folding  his  arms  across  his  chest.  Remember- 
ing that  that  was  rather  a  favorite  attitude  on  the 
stage,  he  unfolded  them  and  succeeded  in  making 
them  hang  motionless  at  his  sides. 


"DO  YOU   WANT   TO   SING  AGAIN?" 

"  T  MIGHT  as  well  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  began. 
"1     "Of  course,  if  you  tell  me  anything." 

"Don't  talk  like  that!"  in  an  irrepressible 
burst  of  excitement.  Then  Hildreth  tried  to  calm 
himself  again.  It  was  really  quite  maddening  to 
be  put  in  the  wrong  in  this  way  by  that  imperturb- 
able man  standing  there  leaning  on  a  stick  he  had 
brought  in. 

"It's  plain  enough,"  began  Hildreth,  "that  I  asked 
you  for  work  because  I  wanted  to  be  near  Miss  Arm- 
strong. You'll  think  that's  because  I  love  her.  I  do 
love  her;  and  she  doesn't  care  the  least  in  the  world 
for  me." 

As  he  spoke  these  words,  in  a  low,  hard  voice, 
Hildreth  gazed  straight  into  Meloon's  eyes. 

"  However,"  went  on  Hildreth,  glancing  away, 
"  though  all  that  is  true,  and  I  came  here  because 
Miss  Armstrong  is  here,  I  didn't  come  because  I  love 
her." 

Meloon's  eyebrows  went  up  the  fraction  of  an  inch. 
The  younger  man  resolutely  suppressed  an  inclina- 
tion to  try  to  knock  that  fellow  down. 

"  No ;  I  came  for  something  else.  The  moment  I 
heard  that  she  had  lost  her  voice,  that  moment  I  re- 
solved that  she  should  regain  it.  I  can  teach  her;  I 
know  a  method.  I  knew  it  would  be  useless  to  write 

74 


"DO  YOU  WANT  TO  SING  AGAIN?" 

to  her ;  she  would  reply  that  she  had  given  up  all 
that.  But  she  hasn't ;  she  can't.  Once  having  had 
such  a  voice  as  hers  was — but  you  don't  care  for  such 
things.  I  won't  talk  of  them." 

"  So  you  came  to  aid  her  to  restore  her  voice?" 

"Just  that." 

Meloon  took  up  the  axe  again  and  contemplated 
its  edge  for  what  seemed  a  long  time.  At  last  : 

"It  appears  to  me,"  he  said,  "  that  Miss  Armstrong 
herself  is  the  person  to  decide  whether  she  wants  her 
voice  back,  even  if  you  can  teach  her  how  to  restore 
it.  She's  getting  along  very  well  here  now.  She 
does  lots  of  work,  and  thrives  on  it.  Don't  cry  out 
at  that.  Why  isn't  it  just  as  fine  a  thing  to  make 
butter  and  cheese  as  'tis  to  sing  at  Manrico  in  the 
tower?  Tell  me  that." 

Meloon  smiled  as  if  he  were  smiling  to  himself. 
In  an  absent  manner  he  chopped  the  stick  that  he 
had  brought  in. 

"  Good  heavens  !"  gasped  Hildreth.  "  Art !  The 
exhilaration,  the  subtle  satisfaction  of  being  an  ar- 
tist !  Do  you  know  anything  about  that?" 

Meloon  threw  the  last  fragment  of  wood  from 
him. 

"Come  into  the  house  with  me — no,  wait  here,  and 
I'll  tell  you,"  he  answered. 

He  hurried  away,  but  returned  immediately,  with 
a  green  baize  bag  in  one  hand,  a  fiddle-bow  in  the 
other.  He  sat  down  on  the  top  of  the  chopping-block, 
carefully  tuned  the  instrument,  and  then  played  that 
song  of  Leonora's  which  he  had  just  mentioned. 

When  he  had  finished  he  said,  "I  didn't  do  that 
because  I  do  it  so  well,  but  just  to  let  you  know  that 
I  care.  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  The  way 
a  man  draws  a  fiddle-bow  across  the  strings  tells 

75 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

you  whether  he  cares  for  music  or  not — really  cares, 
I  mean." 

"And  yet  you  talk  about  making  butter!"  cried 
Hildrcth.  His  expressive  face  had  clouded  over  as 
he  listened. 

"Oh  yes.  Butter's  a  good  thing.  I've  lived  longer 
than  you  have,  and  I  know  that  life  is  something 
more  than  art.  You  artists  haven't  found  the  secret 
yet." 

"  Have  you?"  harshly. 

"I?  Oh  no;  but  I've  gone  further  than  you 
have." 

The  cloud  deepened  upon  Hildreth's  face. 

"  J-I  Armstrong  heard  you  play  ?" 

"No." 

In  spite  of  himself  the  cloud  lifted  a  little. 

Before  either  man  could  speak  again,  hurried  foot- 
steps came  along  the  shed,  and  Billy  appeared,  breath- 
less, her  eyes  shining.  She  stopped  abruptly,  gazing 
at  Mr.  Meloon.  The  violin  still  rested  against  his 
shoulder;  he  had  withdrawn  it,  and  replaced  it  as  if 
it  were  something  he  loved  to  have  near  him. 

"I  knew  it  was  not  Mr.  Hildreth's  touch,"  she 
cried,  "  but  you — "  she  paused. 

"Why,  did  you  think  I  had  fiddles  about,  then?" 
asked  Meloon.  "  You  nearly  fell  over  this  when 
you  came." 

She  did  not  reply ;  she  was  looking  at  Meloon  as  if 
she  had  never  seen  him  before. 

"Oh,"  rousing  herself,  "I  suppose  I  thought  you 
used  to  play.  Why  haven't  you  played  since  I  have 
been  here?" 

"  I  thought  it  might  annoy  you." 

"  I've  been  starving  for  it."  She  walked  away, 
but  returned.  "  I  don't  mean  that.  I've  done  very 

76 


"DO  YOU  WANT  TO  SING  AGAIN?" 

well  without  it.  I  intend  to  do  without  it  all  my 
life.  I  grow  stout  and  strong;  I'm  earning  money, 
mother  is  happy,  and  I  am  happy.  You  may  play 
the  violin  all  the  time,  Mr.  Meloon  ;  I  shall  not  care  ; 
I  shall  not  even  notice  it.  You  see,"  with  apology, 
"I  was  surprised.  Now  I'm  going.  Mother  has  been 
paring  the  curd  from  the  cheese  we  set ;  you  two 
may  have  some.  I  remember  Mr.  Hildreth  liked  it 
that  summer  he  was  camping.  That  fawn  Jersey 
heifer  gives  the  richest  milk  of  any  of  the  cows,  Mr. 
Meloon." 

She  walked  away  once  more,  and  this  time  she  did 
not  come  back. 

Meloon  looked  at  Hildreth. 

"  Some  men  would  turn  you  out.  I'll  try  you ;  but 
just  mind  this,  if  she  is  troubled,  off  you  go." 

Hildreth  came  nearer.  His  eyes  felt  hot  and  his 
throat  dry. 

"  I'm  grateful.  I  didn't  think  you'd  let  me  stay," 
he  said. 

"  It  isn't  for  your  sake,"  was  the  answer ;  "  it's  for 
hers.  I  won't  put  a  straw  in  the  way  of  her  singing. 
People  have  to  find  out  things  for  themselves." 

In  the  house  Billy  had  gone  to  the  cheese-room. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  Vane  Hildreth  is  here." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  sat  down  quickly. 

"Then  the  Lord  hasn't  heard  me." 

The  knife  she  held  in  her  hand  fell  with  a  clatter 
to  the  floor.  She  leaned  both  hands  heavily  on  the 
table  in  front  of  her.  There  was  an  odor  of  milk  and 
fresh  curd  in  the  room.  Billy  inhaled  that  odor  with 
an  unreasonable  feeling  of  thankfulness. 

"  Oh  !"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  "  I  did  think  we  might 
be  safe  here.  And  he  has  found  us  out !" 

She  spoke  as  if  referring  to  the  Apollyon  of  The 

77 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

Pilgrim's  Progress  ;  and,  indeed,  she  was  thinking  of 
him. 

"  Mr.  Meloon  has  other  hired  men,"  remarked  Billy. 

"  Others  !"  with  some  savageness.  "  But  they're 
nothing  to  us." 

"  He  needn't  be  anything  to  us." 

"Wilhelminy,  you  talk  like  a  fool!  This  is  worse 
than  Paris;  and  I  didn't  know  as  anything  could  be 
worse.  Where  shall  we  go  now?" 

She  looked  about  the  room  as  though  possibly  she 
might  escape  through  a  window,  and  take  her  child 
with  her. 

Billy  stood  for  an  instant  with  a  helpless  air.  Then 
she  walked  forward  and  carefully  turned  a  cheese ; 
she  passed  her  hand  over  its  smooth  surface  to  find 
if  it  needed  oiling.  This  simple  action  calmed  her 
so  that  she  answered  steadily  : 

''Why  should  we  go  anywhere?" 

"But  that  man — that  opera-singer?  I  always  was 
afraid,  if  you  ever  saw  him  again,  you'd  have  a  notion 
that  you  were  in  love  with  him.  You  set  so  much 
by  that  dog  of  his." 

"  I  certainly  do  love  Lotos,"  said  the  girl. 

She  went  to  the  open  door  and  whistled.  Imme- 
diately there  was  heard  the  slight  scratching  of  a 
dog's  feet  on  a  bare  floor.  Lotos  walked  in  and  stood 
by  his  mistress.  She  knelt  and  put  her  arms  about 
his  neck. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said  ;  "  I  certainly  love  my  dog." 

There  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice.  Mrs.  Armstrong 
wrung  her  hands. 

"  Where  shall  we  go?"  she  asked  again.  "  I  b'lieve 
I'd  ruther  be  in  Paris." 

Billy  rose. 

"  We  won't  go  anywhere,"  she  said.  "  We'll  stay 
78 


"DO  YOU  WANT  TO  SING  AGAIN?" 

here.  I'm  earning  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  week, 
and  I  don't  think  I  could  earn  a  cent  anywhere  else. 
I  never  was  brought  up  to  earn  anything.  I  want 
to  pay  Miss  Runciman.  I  can  do  housework.  I'm 
going  to  see  if  my  cheese  will  take  a  prize  at  the 
next  agricultural  fair.  We  will  stay  here." 

"But  that  man?" 

"We  will  stay." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  went  to  her  daughter's  side  and 
took  her  hand,  holding  it  closely.  She  reached  up 
and  kissed  her  cheek. 

"  You  know  I  'ain't  got  anything  but  you,  Miny," 
she  said  ;  "  of  course  we'll  stay  if  you  want  to." 

Billy  returned  the  kiss. 

"  Poor  little  mother !"  she  whispered. 

Then  she  hurried  from  the  room,  followed  by  the 
dog.  She  hurried  until  she  reached  her  own  cham- 
ber. Having  reached  it,  she  locked  the  door,  sat 
down  in  a  chair,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
crying  and  sobbing  as  children  do.  The  dog  whined 
and  groaned  with  her,  leaping  at  her  to  lick  her  face. 

But  when  Billy  appeared  later  she  was  so  phleg- 
matically  calm  that  the  two  men  who  ate  the  biscuit 
and  pudding  she  made  for  dinner  gazed  at  her  cu- 
riously. Meloon  made  a  good  meal,  as  usual.  He 
tried  to  persuade  his  new  hired  man  to  eat,  and  the 
new  hired  man  conscientiously  seconded  his  efforts. 
But  Hildreth  felt  as  if  the  food  would  choke  him. 
He  did  not  take  the  least  notice  of  Billy,  and  was 
barely  civil  to  her  mother.  When  they  had  all  risen 
from  the  table  and  Meloon  had  left  the  room,  Hil- 
dreth turned  to  Mrs.  Armstrong.  He  was  quite  pale 
and  had  that  appearance  of  desperation  which  char- 
acterizes nervous  people  when  laboring  under  ex- 
citement. 

79 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"I  wanted  to  say  to  you,"  he  began,  "that  you 
needn't  be  unhappy  because  I  have  come.  It  seems 
to  me  that  I  must  stay,  but  if  my  staying  makes  you 
too  wretched,  I  must  go.  Are  you  going  to  be  kind 
to  me?" 

The  young  man's  voice  was  very  sweet.  He  had 
gone  to  Mrs.  Armstrong's  side  and  was  standing 
close  to  her.  Billy  watched  them.  She  resented 
this  marring  of  her  peaceful  days,  but  in  her  resent- 
ment was  mingled  something  which  she  did  not  un- 
derstand. She  wondered  what  her  mother  would 
say;  whatever  she  said,  she,  Billy,  must  have  her 
own  way,  since,  plainly,  her  way  was  right. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  silent.  Hildreth  repeated 
his  words  : 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  kind  to  me?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  looked  at  him  earnestly,  and  then 
exclaimed,  naively : 

"  Why,  how  could  I  help  it  ?" 

Hildreth's  eyes  suddenly  filled.  He  leaned  for- 
ward and  put  his  hand  on  the  woman's  shoulder. 

"Forgive  me!"  he  murmured. 

He  kissed  her  cheek  as  if  he  had  been  her  son. 

Then  he  left  the  room. 

Billy  said  nothing.  She  began  to  gather  the  plates 
from  the  table  and  carry  them  to  the  sink.  Her 
mother  remained  standing,  her  faded,  dreamy  eyes 
fixed  on  the  window.  At  last  she  roused  herself. 

"  He  seems  to  have  such  a  good  heart,"  she  said. 

Billy  made  no  response. 

After  that  the  days  went  on  apparently  exactly  as 
they  had  done  before  Hildreth  came.  The  two 
women  saw  him  only  at  meals.  In  the  evenings, 
when  the  others  sat  by  the  open  hearth,  even  if 
there  were  no  fire  there,  Hildreth  was  not  with  them. 

80 


"DO   YOU  WANT  TO   SING  AGAIN?" 

Sometimes  Mrs.  Armstrong  would  say :  "  Where  is 
that  young  man  ?  I  should  think  he'd  be  lonesome  " ; 
and  Meloon  would  answer  :  "  I  told  him  he'd  better 
come  in  here." 

Then  he  would  furtively  glance  at  Billy,  who,  if 
she  saw  the  glance,  would  return  it  openly. 

Two  weeks  seemed  a  long  time.  To  the  girl's  se- 
cret surprise  and  amusement  her  mother  appeared 
to  have  lost  that  feeling  of  suspicion  and  fear  in 
regard  to  Hildreth.  She  was  sorry  for  him ;  she 
was  afraid  he  was  lonesome;  did  Miny  know  if  he 
had  a  mother  living? 

It  was  in  the  third  week  after  Hildreth's  arrival. 
Billy  had  been  a  mile  up  the  hill  to  a  neighbor's 
with  a  small  pail  to  get  a  cup  of  hop  yeast.  She 
and  Lotos  were  on  their  sedate  homeward  way 
when,  from  a  cart-path  in  the  woods  at  her  right, 
there  emerged  two  mild -faced  oxen.  They  were 
drawing  an  empty  cart,  and  Hildreth  was  walking 
beside  them. 

Sometimes  we  have  a  dim  sense  that  a  moment 
of  importance  is  approaching,  and  we  hesitate,  not 
knowing  why. 

Billy  paused  now.  She  had  an  impulse  to  turn 
back,  but  to  do  so  would  be  almost  insulting. 

Hildreth  hurried  forward. 

"  I  knew  the  time  would  come  if  I  could  wait,"  he 
said,  quickly.  "  I  wouldn't  ask  to  see  you.  You 
needn't  look  in  that  way.  Do  you  wish  that  you 
could  sing  again  ?" 

Billy  was  so  startled  by  this  question  that  at  first 
she  only  repeated  the  words,  "  sing  again  ?" 

"  Get  back  your  voice,  I  mean.     Tell  me." 

Hildreth  had  his  long  whip  in  his  hand  and  he 
was  twisting  it  round  and  round. 
F  81 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

She  roused  herself. 

"I've  given  it  up,"  she  answered;  "we  won't  talk 
of  that." 

"Yes,  we  will  talk  of  it.  I  have  come  hundreds 
of  miles  to  talk  of  it;  and  then  I  thought  I  never 
should  find  you.  Oh,  certainly,  we  will  talk  of  it." 

He  spoke  with  a  feverish  eagerness.  He  called  to 
the  oxen  that  rough  "  whoa !"  which  he  had  learned 
to  speak  as  if  he  had  spoken  it  all  his  life.  The 
animals  stood  still  in  their  tracks,  drooping,  calm. 

He  took  a  step  nearer  the  girl. 

"You  long  to  sing?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  more  strenuous  question 
in  his  eyes  than  in  his  words. 

44  I've  given  that  up." 

"But  it  hurt  you  to  give  it  up?" 

"It  killed  me." 

"Ah!     Then  you  want  to  live  again." 

"No— no.  I  can't.  They  tried— I  tried,  but  it 
was  of  no  use." 

"  They  were  wrong." 

"No,  they  were  right." 

The  two  were  silent  now,  gazing  at  each  other. 

The  place  was  solitary ;  they  heard  the  chick-a- 
ftees  in  the  woods,  and  Billy  thought  to  herself,  "  It 
is  going  to  be  colder."  And  she  asked  herself  why 
she  did  not  hurry  home.  It  was  already  time  to  mix 
the  dough  and  set  it  to  rising. 

"Yes,  they  were  right,"  she  reiterated,  firmly  ;  and 
now  she  began  to  walk  away,  carrying  her  pail  of 
yeast  very  carefully. 

Hildreth  followed  her. 

"You're  bound  to  hear  me  now,"  he  began.  "I'm 
telling  you  the  truth.  I  came  here  to  help  you. 
We'll  begin  to-morrow — to-day.  You  shall  sing  as 

82 


f^V,      v,X         ,  >        „ 

•         H    •  ..L 


"'YOU    ARE    BOUND   TO    HKAR   ME'" 


"DO  YOU  WANT  TO  SING  AGAIN?" 

you  never  sang  before.  It's  the  Boldrea  method — 
Leonora  Runciman  knows  of  it.  I  went  to  her  as 
soon  as  I  heard  you  had  lost  your  voice.  She  is  sure 
it  can  be  restored.  She  told  me  that  the  world  must 
not  lose  it — that  you  need  not  despair.  It's  well  that 
you've  been  living  in  the  country — you're  well  and 
strong.  You're  in  just  the  condition  to  begin.  'Tis 
as  if  Providence  had  arranged  it  all — your  health  so 
firm  now — yes" — eagerly — "  it  is  Providence  that  has 
laid  the  foundation.  Miss  Armstrong,  you  won't 
fight  against  God,  who  has  sent  me  to  you  ?  Do  you 
think  your  voice  was  given  you  to  throw  away  ?" 

Billy  was  standing  stiff  and  straight.  Suddenly 
she  leaned  forward  and  placed  the  pail  carefully  on 
the  ground.  Having  done  this,  she  stood  erect  and 
clasped  her  hands  closely  under  her  shawl. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  bitterly,  "  perhaps  it  was  given  to 
me  ;  and  it  was  taken  away — taken  away  as  if  God 
hated  me  and  wished  to  humiliate  me.  Do  you  know 
how  it  went  ? — like  that  !"  flinging  out  one  hand, 
"  and  the  people  looked  on  and  waited  for  me  to 
sing,  and  I  couldn't.  You  might  better  go,  Mr. 
Hildreth.  Do  you  think  I'll  suffer  the  hope,  and  the 
pain,  and  the  confidence,  and  the  despair  again?  It's 
just  hell  and  paradise." 

She  turned  from  him  and  looked  off  over  the 
country,  hill  and  valley,  with  bared  trees  and  brown 
grass,  lying  still  in  a  thin  haze  of  smoke. 


XI 
BY  THE  FIRESIDE 

"  N  TO,"  said  Hildreth,  resolutely,  "  I  shall  not  go. 

1  >|  I  shall  stay  here  and  teach  you  to  sing.  I'm 
sure  there  is  no  organic  trouble  with  your 
throat.  I  will  give  you  a  year.  You  may  keep  on 
with  your  work,  since  it  makes  you  strong." 

Billy  faced  round  upon  him. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  no,  I  will  not  try." 

"  You  will  not  ?" 

"Never!" 

"  You  choose  butter-making — you  choose  cooking 
pies  and  doughnuts  for  that  man." 

Having  said  this  last  phrase,  Hildreth  wished  that 
he  might  recall  it. 

"  If  you  like  to  put  it  so — 

Billy  stooped  and  picked  up  the  yeast-pail  with  a 
steady  hand.  She  started  on  her  homeward  walk, 
and  Lotos,  who  had  been  much  bored  by  this  con- 
versation, followed  her  with  relief  in  his  aspect. 

Ilildreth  gazed  after  her,  then  ran  to  her  side. 

"  I  shall  not  take  your  never  for  an  answer,"  he 
said,  now  speaking  with  grave  calmness.  "  Other 
thoughts  will  come  to  you.  I  want  to  tell  you  what 
Miss  Runciman  said — her  hope — her  conviction — " 

The  girl  had  paused  in  her  walk  to  listen. 

"  You  need  tell  me  nothing.  I  forbid  you  tosprak 
on  this  subject  again.  Miss  Runciman  is  nothing 

84 


BY   THE   FIRESIDE 

to  me  but  the  woman  who  gave  me  money  that  I'm 
going  to  repay." 

Having  spoken  thus,  Billy  went  on,  and  Hildreth 
turned  back  to  where  the  oxen  stood  waiting  for 
him.  He  leaned  against  one  of  the  animals.  The 
young  man  suddenly  began  to  tremble  ;  the  sturdy 
ox  stood  quiet,  and  Hildreth  envied  him. 

At  last  he  stepped  forward  and  cracked  his  whip  ; 
the  oxen  vibrated  slowly  in  response,  then  bent  to 
their  deliberate  walk.  Far  down  below  him,  the  only 
human  being  visible,  hurrying  along  under  the  leafless 
trees,  Hildreth  saw  Billy,  and  Lotos  was  by  her  side. 

"  I  wonder  why  she  cares  for  the  dog,"  thought 
Hildreth.  But  he  knew  that  she  might  well  care  for 
Lotos  for  his  own  sake. 

"  I  might  as  well  go  to-day,"  the  young  man  went 
on  thinking.  "Yes;  I  will  go  to-day.  I  will  tell 
Meloon  that  I'm  sick  of  the  work — it's  too  hard." 

He  trudged  on,  in  and  out  of  the  ruts,  sometimes 
steadying  himself  with  a  hand  on  the  ox,  his  eyes 
watching  the  girl  until  she  had  disappeared  behind  a 
hill. 

Hildreth  wondered  where  his  old  light-hearted  self 
could  be — that  self  that  had  laughed  and  talked  and 
sung,  on  that  driving  trip  with  his  aunt  Leonora 
Runciman,  and  his  sister  Bathsheba — that  was  the 
time  when  he  had  first  met  Wilhelmina.  He  could 
see  her,  as  he  had  seen  her  first,  coming  down  the 
river  path  towards  their  encampment  by  the  falls. 
What  a  voice  she  had  then !  He  liked  to  think 
that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight, 
though  it  was  not  true  that  he  had  done  so.  And  if 
she  were  ugly  and  uninteresting,  he  should  just  the 
same  have  that  desire  to  help  restore  her  voice — just 
the  same.  Which  also  was  not  true. 

85 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

Well,  everything  was  all  over  now.  He  would  tell 
Meloon  to-night  that  he  should  like  to  go  immedi- 
ately—  to-morrow,  if  convenient  for  Meloon.  Per- 
haps he  ought  to  stay  and  finish  husking  that  corn 
and  put  it  in  the  corn-barn ;  but  no,  the  sooner  he 
went  the  better.  He  had  a  wish  to  leave  the  oxen 
standing  there  in  the  road,  while  he  struck  across  the 
fields  towards  the  nearest  station.  Of  course  he 
couldn't  do  that.  He  kept  on  walking  with  them. 
He  put  them  up  in  their  stalls ;  then  he  sat  down  on 
the  big  barn  floor  where  the  corn  was  piled,  and  be- 
gan husking  again.  His  hands  were  not  yet  so  hard- 
ened but  that  the  rough  blades  and  stalks  sometimes 
drew  blood ;  but  he  did  not  know  it.  The  wind  of 
fall  blew  through  the  place  and  whisked  the  husks 
about.  A  fawn-colored  heifer  from  the  yard  wan- 
dered in  and  began  nosing  about  for  some  sweet 
morsel.  Hildreth  flung  an  ear  of  corn  at  her ;  she 
looked  at  him  in  amazed  inquiry,  and  then  strolled  out 
again.  Her  hair  was  already  beginning  to  be  thick 
and  rough  for  the  winter. 

The  early-coming  darkness  sent  him  to  the  house 
for  a  lantern.  He  dreaded  to  go  in.  He  wished  he 
might  meet  Meloon;  the  sooner  he  told  him  he  was 
going,  the  better.  It  was  odd  that  he  hadn't  met 
him,  for  Meloon  was  always  out-of-doors  and  at  work. 

Hildreth  went  down  the  lane  to  drive  up  the  cows 
that  still  lingered  in  the  lower  mowing;  they  had  the 
freedom  of  that  mowing  at  this  time  of  year. 

With  the  sun's  going  down  the  wind  had  dropped ; 
there  was  a  sweet  smell  in  the  air,  that  curious  odor 
like  the  odor  of  spring  that  sometimes  comes  in  the 
autumn  when  autumn  is  near  to  winter. 

And  there  was  Meloon  striding  down  from  the  up- 
land. His  figure  was  dimly  visible;  and  soon  Hil- 

86 


BY  THE  FIRESIDE 

dreth  saw  that  there  was  a  gun  over  his  shoulder ; 
and  there  was  something  in  the  game-bag  he  carried. 
Meloon  jumped  over  the  fence  at  the  head  of  the 
lane ;  he  was  whistling  spiritedly  a  bar  of  "  Bon- 
nie Dundee."  In  this  dusk  Hildreth.  saw  that  he 
looked  a  stalwart  young  man,  and  he  resented  that 
fact. 

"  Now  I'll  tell  him  I  can't  stay,"  thought  Hildreth, 
and  he  hurried  forward. 

"Rabbits,"  said  Meloon,  tersely;  "rabbit  stew  to- 
morrow, with  dumplings." 

So  that  was  what  the  man  was  thinking?  Hil- 
dreth's  lip  curled. 

"  Do  you  like  rabbit  stew  ?"  asked  Meloon. 

"  I  don't  know — never  ate  any." 

"  There's  time  enough.  We'll  both  go  at  that 
corn  in  the  morning." 

The  cows  had  started  down  the  lane.  Hildreth 
fell  into  step  with  his  companion.  "  Now  I'll  tell 
him,"  he  thought  again. 

He  opened  his  lips  ;  a  soft  breeze  of  that  strangely 
sweet  air  came  across  his  face.  "  I'll  wait  a  minute," 
he  thought. 

"  I  tell  you,  it's  fine  up  there  on  the  mountain," 
said  Meloon;  "an  hour  of  it  is  worth  a  week  in  your 
towns.  I  suppose  you're  a  town  lover,  eh  ?" 

"  No — yes  ;  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  I  hope  my 
hands  will  stop  bleeding  before  that  corn  is  husked." 

The  last  sentence  came  weakly  from  the  speaker. 
He  had  now  resolved  definitely  that  he  should  be  too 
hasty  if  he  gave  notice  to-night  of  his  departure. 
Having  come  to  this  decision,  Hildreth's  spirits  rose 
almost  to  hilarity.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been  saved 
from  something  evil.  At  the  supper-table  that  night 
he  talked  a  little,  and  after  supper,  for  the  first  time, 

87 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

he  came  to  the  big  fireplace  in  the  sitting-room, 
where  the  fire  blazed  all  day  and  evening. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  looked  at  him  approvingly.  She 
could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  be  unkind  to  him 
since  he  had  kissed  her,  and  she  had  seen  the  tears 
in  his  eyes.  He  seemed  a  different  man  to  her  now; 
for  that  is  the  way  some  women  reason — or  rather, 
don't  reason. 

Meloon  sat  with  his  long  legs  stretched  out  towards 
the  fire  ;  his  hands  were  in  his  pockets,  his  head 
thrown  back  against  his  chair. 

Hildreth  felt  impelled  to  look  at  him,  and  at  the 
same  time  he  wished  to  hide  this  impulse.  Billy 
and  her  mother  were  sitting  at  the  other  side  of  the 
fireplace  by  a  little  table  on  which  was  a  lamp.  The 
two  women  were  mending  ;  the  elder  had  a  stock- 
ing of  Meloon's  drawn  over  her  hand,  and  the  long 
needleful  of  blue  yarn  was  pulled  in  and  out  with  reg- 
ular movements.  Hildreth's  eyes  wandered  to  the 
girl,  who  sat  at  the  farther  side  of  the  table  ;  Lotos 
was  at  her  feet,  having  carefully  placed  himself  on 
a  fold  of  her  gown,  where  he  was  not  only  sleeping 
but  snoring. 

Was  there  ever  a  group  that  seemed  more  peace- 
ful ? 

The  second  glance 'Hildreth  gave  to  Billy  showed 
him  that  she  had  his  denim  jumper  in  her  lap,  and 
that  she  was  sewing  on  buttons  in  place  of  those 
he  had  torn  off.  He  was  now  wearing  the  mate  to 
that  jumper.  He  had  provided  himself  with  two 
denim  suits  when  he  had  started  to  let  himself  to  be 
a  farmer,  much  as  he  would  have  secured  masquer- 
ading dresses  for  the  stage.  Thus  far,  in  spite  of 
the  hard  work  he  had  done,  the  young  man  still  con- 
tinued to  have  something  of  the  feeling  that  he  was 

88 


BY   THE   FIRESIDE 

acting  on  a  stage,  different  indeed  from  that  to  which 
he  had  been  accustomed,  but  still  not  real  life. 

Now,  as  he  saw  Billy  mending  his  clothes,  he 
averted  his  eyes  quickly.  He  could  not  bear  that. 
He  knew  that  there  was  no  tenderness  in  her  thoughts 
as  she  thus  worked,  but  the  homely  tenderness  of 
the  action  made  Hildreth's  heart  beat  heavily.  He 
moved  restlessly.  Then  he  rose  and  walked  to  the 
back  of  Billy's  chair.  He  stood  there  in  silence  an 
instant  before  he  said,  abruptly  : 

"  Miss  Armstrong,  you  needn't  do  that  for  me." 

Billy  raised  her  head,  then  lowered  it  again  im- 
mediately. 

"  Why  not  ?" — calmly.  "  When  I  looked  over  the 
clothes,  I  found  this  needed  buttons." 

Her  tone  was  so  matter-of-fact  that  Hildreth  shut 
his  teeth  tightly.  Why  should  not  her  tone  be  mat- 
ter-of-fact ?  He  went  back  to  his  chair. 

"  I  dislike  to  add  to  your  work,  Miss  Armstrong," 
he  said,  coldly. 

Meloon  sat  watching  them  both.  He  had  with- 
drawn one  hand  from  his  pocket  and  was  slowly 
stroking  his  mustache,  his  eyes  shining  with  an  ex- 
pression of  interest  or  amusement. 

"  Who  says  that  country  life  isn't  interesting  ?"  he 
suddenly  asked. 

Hildreth  turned  angrily  towards  him,  but  when 
he  met  the  genuine  good-will  in  his  host's  face  his 
anger  died. 

Meloon  drew  himself  up  into  an  attitude  of  more 
alertness. 

"  Hildreth,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "  I  suppose  you 
sing?" 

Billy's  needle,  drawn  out  to  the  full  length  of  the 
thread,  paused  for  an  instant  in  the  air  ;  but  only 

89 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

for  an  instant,  when  it  was  steadily  put  through  the 
button  and  pulled  out  again. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hildreth. 

"  Tenor,  of  course  ?" 

"  Why  of  course?"  with  some  irritation. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  " — easily  ;  "  I  should  guess  that 
from  your  looks.  I  wish  you'd  try  your  voice  on  us. 
Will  you  ?" 

Hildreth  hesitated.  He  longed  to  sing  before 
Billy,  but  he  was  afraid  of  her  indignation. 

"Cold? — sore  throat?"  laughed  Meloon. 

"  No.  If  you  wish  it,  I  am  willing  to  sing,"  deci- 
sively. 

"All  right!     I  do  wish  it." 

Billy  snipped  off  her  thread  with  a  steady  hand. 
Then  she  stuck  her  needle  in  the  cushion  on  the  table ; 
having  done  this,  she  rose  in  a  leisurely  manner,  re- 
marked that  she  had  forgotten  to  put  the  beans  to 
soak,  and  walked  out  of  the  room.  The  dining-room 
was  between  the  kitchen  and  the  sitting-room,  so 
that  when  she  reached  the  kitchen  there  were  walls, 
and  there  was  some  space  between  her  and  the 
singer. 

She  stood  still  in  the  darkness  for  a  moment. 
Lotos  had  crowded  out  with  her,  and  now  was  in  a 
very  depressed  attitude  close  to  her.  Billy  was  lis- 
tening with  a  wretched  feeling  of  dread  and  longing. 

Presently  she  heard  the  voice  which  had  sung  to 
her  from  the  tower.  Though  muffled  by  the  inter- 
vening room,  it  was  still  clear,  and  she  knew  instant- 
ly how  it  had  grown  in  power  and  sweetness  since 
she  had  last  heard  it.  He  had  chosen  that  same  solo 
of  Manrico's — and  that  was  like  him,  she  thought, 
vindictively.  Even  here  she  could  know  that  he 
was  singing  it  better  than  he  had  sung  it  then,  not 

90 


BY  THE    FIRESIDE 

more  dramatically  or  with  more  heart,  but  with  far 
more  technical  skill. 

As  the  song  went  on,  Billy's  fear  that  she  should 
try  to  sing  the  response  grew  greater  and  more  un- 
controllable. She  would  fail  if  she  tried ;  therefore 
she  must  not  try.  To  open  her  lips  and  have  that 
husky  gasp  come  forth  in  place  of  pure  tone— she 
could  not  endure  that  again.  She  must  run  away. 
She  distrusted  herself.  Hildreth's  voice — no,  Man- 
rico's  voice — went  on  stronger  and  more  sweetly 
emotional.  The  lights  of  the  theatre  seemed  to 
flash  before  the  girl.  She  breathed  heavily.  This 
was  a  hint  of  her  life,  and  her  life  had  been  taken 
from  her.  It  is  a  cruel  thing  to  have  your  life  taken 
from  you,  and  still  to  go  through  the  farce  of  living. 

Billy  roused  herself.  She  groped  hurriedly  for  a 
shawl  that  she  had  flung  in  a  chair.  She  huddled 
it  about  her  and  found  the  outer  door,  breaking- 
into  a  run  as  she  escaped  from  the  house.  The  stars 
were  so  brilliant  that  she  need  not  stumble ;  the  air, 
now  that  the  sun  was  down,  was  keen  and  full  of 
frost.  Lotos  ran  close  behind  her. 

It  was  good  to  be  out  under  the  sky.  Billy  thought 
she  would  be  able  to  run  miles  in  this  invigorating 
air — miles  to  escape  from  the  sound  of  that  passion- 
ate voice.  Just  now  flight  was  the  only  thing  left  to 
her.  She  would  be  obliged  to  go  back,  but  not  yet. 

In  a  few  moments  she  became  calmer ;  she  began 
to  think  that  it  was  a  kind  of  hot-house  excitement 
from  which  she  was  escaping.  She  could  not  now 
hear  Hildreth  singing.  She  did  not  wish  to  hear 
him  sing.  What  she  wished  to  do  was  to  stay  here 
in  the  country  and  make  butter,  cook  doughnuts, 
and  wash  dishes. 

She  wondered  what  the  Boldrea  method  was.   She 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

wondered  if  there  were  any  method — but  no,  her 
singing  power  was  gone.  She  shouted  the  word 
"  gone  "  out  into  the  darkness.  Then  she  drew  her- 
self up  strongly.  A  person  could  not  do  a  more  fool- 
ish thing  than  to  waste  nervous  force  by  becoming 
excited.  She  was  a  silly,  disappointed  girl,  but  she 
would  behave  respectably. 

She  folded  her  shawl  methodically  about  her  and 
walked  sedately,  but  still  farther  from  the  house. 
Her  ebullition  was  over.  She  was  already  ashamed 
of  it,  and  glad  that  there  had  been  no  witnesses  save 
Lotos,  and  Lotos  did  not  count. 


XII 
HOPE   REVIVING 

YES,  it  was  certainly  a  good  thing  to  be  in  the 
country. 

"Wilhelminy!    Miny  !"  shrilly  from  towards 
the  house. 

Billy  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  Mother  is  so  foolish  !"  she  exclaimed.    • 

From  the  deep  shadow  of  the  buildings  a  form  de- 
tached itself  and  hastened  forward. 

"  She  is  coming  after  me,"  still  more  impatiently. 

She  hurried  on,  but  the  figure  came  faster  still.  It 
was  not  Mrs.  Armstrong,  though  it  was  she  who  had 
"  cried  upon  "  her  daughter. 

A  hand  touched  Billy's  shoulder,  and  Meloon  said, 
in  a  casual  manner,  as  if  he  had  accidentally  met  the 
girl: 

"  There's  going  to  be  a  white  frost.  Sha'n't  we 
cover  those  petunias  under  the  south  window?  If 
we  do,  we'll  save  them  another  week,  I  think." 

"  Yes,"  with  some  eagerness.  "  I  was  thinking  of 
the  petunias  before  supper ;  then  I  forgot  them." 

The  two  turned  back.  Meloon  took  Billy's  hand 
and  drew  it  within  his  arm,  but  absently,  as  if  he 
hardly  knew  that  he  did  so. 

To  her  surprise,  the  girl  was  glad  of  the  support ; 
she  was  all  at  once  conscious  of  a  weakness  and  un- 
steadiness. 

93 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

Mrloon  began  speaking  of  a  colt  he  was  training. 
He  said  he  believed  that  Billy  could  ride  the  colt  by 
spring.  It  was  rather  good  fun  to  ride  a  fine  horse 
—didn't  she  think  so?  But  he  did  not  wait  for  her 
reply. 

When,  fifteen  minutes  later,  they  reached  the 
house,  Billy,  cool  and  calm,  said  "  Thank  you,"  ear- 
nestly, and  then  ran  up  to  her  own  chamber. 

When  every  one  had  left  the  sitting-room,  save 
the  master  of  the  house  and  the  two  dogs,  he  went 
out  again.  He  fastened  the  cloth  still  more  secure- 
ly over  the  petunias.  Then  he  walked  about  for  a 
while.  Once  he  looked  up  at  the  sky  and  said, 
aloud: 

"  Yes,  the  air  is  full  of  frost." 

He  bore  himself  with  his  usual  erect,  martial  bear- 
ing. When  he  had  reached  the  door  on  his  return, 
he  paused  and  extended  his  hand  as  if  to  feel  a  drop 
of  rain.  Then  he  stroked  his  mustache,  smiling  be- 
neath it. 

"  It  is  certainly  frosty,"  he  said  again.  He  rum- 
pled his  thick,  grizzled  hair,  and  added,  with  a  slight 
laugh: 

"Yes;  and  I've  reached  a  frosty  age.  I  pught  to 
look  in  the  glass  more  ;  I  forget  what  a  gray  beard 
I  am.  But  it's  no  matter.  I'm  at  a  good  time  of 
life.  I'm  old  enough  to  detect  an  illusion,  and  not 
too  old  to  enjoy  the  very  illusion  I  have  detected. 
Who  says  that  isn't  a  good  age?  Things  are  too  hard 
on  that  girl — too  cursed  hard.  And  she's  got  pluck. 
Wonder  if  her  voice  really  is  gone?" 

Meloon  sat  down  before  the  embers  of  the  fire  and 
gazed  into  it.  After  a  while  his  eyes  closed,  opened 
abruptly,  then  closed  again. 

After  that  everything  at  the  farm-house  went  on 


HOPE   REVIVING 

apparently  just  the  same  as  if  Hildreth  had  riot 
sung.  Every  morning  the  young  man  had  thoughts 
of  telling  his  employer  that  he  couldn't  stay ;  but 
night  found  him  sitting  with  the  rest  before  the  fire. 
He  rarely  talked.  He  had  formed  the  habit  of  tak- 
ing a  book  and  gazing  at  the  pages,  sometimes  turn- 
ing them,  sometimes  looking  over  it  at  Billy,  who 
was  always  busy.  When  she  was  not  more  actively 
engaged  she  sewed  or  knit,  and  was  absorbed  in  her 
work. 

The  fall  deepened.  The  petunias  could  no  longer 
be  saved  by  covering.  Almost  all  the  greenery  was 
blackened  and  drooping.  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  her 
daughter  were  chopping  meat  and  apples  for  Thanks- 
giving mince-pies ;  they  were  making  loaves  of  rich 
fruit-cake.  On  some  bleak  afternoons,  when  the 
work  failed,  Billy  took  hurried  walks  with  Lotos 
over  the  desolate  fields,  where  the  wind  blew  sharp 
from  the  mountains. 

At  such  times  Hildreth  would  watch  her  as  she 
went,  and  then  turn  doggedly  to  his  task.  He  felt 
as  if  he  had  been  on  this  farm  a  hundred  years.  He 
had  refused  brilliant  offers  for  the  opera  season. 
What  did  he  care  for  brilliant  offers  now?  He  grew 
thin  and  gaunt,  but  he  was  well. 

One  day  he  resolved  to  change  his  conduct.  Why 
shouldn't  he  try  to  see  that  girl?  Why  should  he 
seek  to  act  like  a  block  of  wood  ?  And  why  couldn't 
he  throw  off  this  feeling  that  bound  him? 

Then  again  his  spirits  rose  absurdly.  A  few  days 
later  he  was  sawing  wood  in  front  of  the  shed.  Lo- 
tos came  bounding  towards  him,  gave  him  a  hasty 
greeting,  then  hurried  away. 

Hildreth  scrupulously  continued  sawing  the  log, 
and  as  the  block  dropped  to  the  ground  he  straight- 

95 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

encd  himself  and  looked  up  the  lane.  There  was  the 
dog  galloping  forward,  and  presently  Billy  came  in 
sight,  walking  rapidly.  She  wore  a  heavy,  brown 
shawl ;  but  even  thus  encumbered,  the  grace  of  her 
carriage  was  unmistakable. 

Hildreth  bent  to  his  labor  again  and  finished  the 
huge  stick.  He  took  up  the  bit  of  tallow  from  the 
board  where  he  had  placed  it,  and  carefully  rubbed 
it  along  the  blade  of  the  saw,  his  hand  trembling  as 
he  did  so.  Then  he  hung  up  the  tool  on  the  wall  of 
the  wood-house  and  walked  down  the  lane.  He  made 
for  a  grove  of  beech-trees  that  grew  in  that  upland 
pasture.  Billy  went  there  for  nuts ;  she  had  carried 
a  basket  with  her.  He  came  upon  her  just  as  he  had 
planned.  She  glanced  at  him  with  the  arched  brows 
of  surprise. 

"  I'll  take  the  basket  for  you,"  he  said. 

He  poked  among  the  fallen  leaves  and  picked  up 
the  sharp-cornered  little  nuts  for  a  few  moments ; 
then  he  said,  suddenly  : 

44  I'm  not  going  to  bear  this  another  day." 

44  You  don't  like  your  work,  then?"  with  a  gentle 
interest. 

44 Oh,  I  can  stand  my  work.  But  I'm  going;  I'm 
going  to-morrow." 

He  had  not  had  the  slightest  intention  of  saying 
this  when  he  had  started  to  follow ;  he  had  felt  only  a 
blind  resolution  to  speak  freely  once  more  to  this  girl, 
to  cast  off  the  fetters  he  had  imposed  upon  himself. 
After  all, what  was  the  use  of  fetters,  save  to  gall  one? 

44  We  shall  miss  you." 

44  No  doubt,"  with  great  sarcasm. 

Silence;  the  nuts  fell  with  a  soft  rustle  into  the 
basket.  Three  crows  went  cawing  over  the  beech- 
grove. 

96 


HOPE   REVIVING 

It  seemed  impossible  for  Hildreth  to  speak  an  or- 
dinary commonplace  now ;  so  he  said  nothing.  Very 
soon,  from  their  combined  industry,  the  basket  be- 
came full  of  nuts.  Two  chipmonks  watched  these 
thieves  with  scolding  from  the  tree-boughs. 

"  Now  I  must  go  home,"  at  last  from  Billy ;  "  I'm 
to  make  biscuit  for  supper,  raised  biscuit,  and  they 
are  to  rise  a  second  time.  You  like  yeast  biscuit,  sir, 
I've  noticed." 

"Do  I?"  sullenly. 

They  walked  on  until  they  came  to  the  first  pair 
of  bars.  Billy  hastened  forward  and  leaned  her  arms 
on  the  top  bar  so  that  it  could  not  be  lowered.  Hil- 
dreth joined  her.  The  valley  was  before  them  with 
the  sombre  beauty  of  November  upon  it. 

"  It's  lovely,"  said  Billy. 

"Yes  ;  but  I've  had  enough  of  it." 

"  Have  you?" 

In  another  moment  the  girl  turned  towards  her 
companion,  but  though  she  turned  towards  him,  her 
face  was  averted. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  go,"  she  said. 

Hildreth's  face  flushed,  but  he  maintained  his 
attitude,  with  his  eyes  towards  the  valley,  as  he 
asked : 

"  Why  ?" 

"Because  I  want  you  to  stay." 

"Why  do  you  want  me  to  stay?" 

" Don't  you  know?    Can't  you  guess ?" 

Hildreth  turned  quickly  enough  now. 

"  Oh,  Billy,"  in  a  half  whisper ;  "  can  it  be  that  you 
think  you  could  love  me?" 

Billy  shrank  a  little.   Hildreth  saw  that  she  blushed. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,"  she  answered. 

"  Not  of  that  ?    I  think  of  it  night  and  day." 
G  97 


THE    MELOON   FARM 

"I  don't  think  of  love,"  more  steadily.  "Why 
should  I?" 

"  Indeed,  there  is  no  reason,"  bitterly. 

Billy's  eyes  came  to  her  companion's  face ;  there 
was  something  imploring  in  them. 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  foolish  to  think  of  love.  There's 
a  great  deal  besides  love  in  the  world,"  she  said. 

"  If  you  loved  you  wouldn't  think  so." 

"Vane,"  sharply,  "do  you  know  that  if  I  can't 
sing  again  I  shall  die?" 

The  young  man  started.  Then  he  answered, 
quietly : 

"  You  don't  look  like  dying." 

"  Oh,  I  may  not  seem  dead,  but  I  shall  be  dead  all 
the  same." 

"  I  offered  to  help  you." 

"  Yes — yes,  and  I  refused.  Well,  ever  since  then, 
waking  or  sleeping,  I've  been  crying  out  to  myself, 
4 1  must  try — I  must  try.'  But  if  I  should  fail 
again — " 

Billy  looked  off  down  the  valley. 

"  You  won't  fail." 

"  You  think  so  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  of  it." 

Billy  came  a  step  nearer  her  companion  and  put 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Vane,"  she  said,  "  if  I  can't  get  back  my  voice,  I 
can  never  bear  the  agony.  It  would  be  better  to  go 
on  just  as  I  am.  Sometimes  I  feel  sure  I  can  sing, 
but  I  dare  not  open  my  lips.  To  have  felt  what  it 
is  to  sing,  and  then — but  I  mustn't  recall  that." 

She  was  speaking  hurriedly,  breathlessly  ;  there 
was  a  pale  circle  about  her  mouth,  but  her  mouth 
was  very  red.  Her  hand  pressed  more  heavily  on 
his  arm. 

98 


HOPE   REVIVING 

"  I  wanted  to  go  on  as  I  am.  Here  is  safety — 
why  can't  I  be  at  peace  ?  Why  can't  I  feel  at  peace, 
as  if  I  had  never  sung  ?  Sometimes  I  hate  Miss 
Runciman.  Why  didn't  she  let  me  alone  ?  Just 
look  down  this  valley — 'sweet  vale  of  Avoca,' " 
with  a  little  laugh.  "  I  am  like  a  small  tempest 
in  the  midst  of  this  quiet.  Vane,  tell  me  you 
won't  go." 

"  I  won't  go,"  he  answered,  promptly. 

"  And  you'll  make  me  sing  ?"  Like  a  child  she 
persisted. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  swear  it,"  eagerly. 

She  withdrew  from  him.  A  cloud  came  over  her 
face. 

"  You  mustn't  speak  like  that,"  she  said.  "  When 
you  speak  like  that  I  fear  that  you  don't  know  what 
you're  saying." 

"  You're  hard  to  please,"  he  responded.  "  But  I 
do  know  what  I'm  promising.  Listen  to  what  I  tell 
you.  To-day  is  the  24th  of  November.  On  the  24th 
of  November  next  you  shall  be  ready  to  sing  in 
opera — you  shall  be  a  prima  donna  again.  Oh,  I  am 
speaking  truth.  We  will  be  singing  together.  Your 
voice  shall  be  better  than  ever.  Billy,  you  must  be- 
lieve me." 

She  had  turned  again  towards  him  and  her  eyes 
were  fixed  on  his  face.  Her  whole  body  seemed  to 
be  listening  to  his  words. 

"  If  that  were  only  the  truth  !"  she  exclaimed,  after 
a  silence. 

"  It  is  the  truth." 

They  went  down  the  pasture.  Neither  spoke 
again.  The  girl  walked  as  if  she  were  hardly  in  this 
world.  Sometimes  she  stumbled  over  a  root  or  a 
stone  and  Hildreth  caught  her  hand.  She  instantly 

99 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

withdrew  the  hand,  but  did  not  appear  to  know  that 
he  was  with  her. 

Near  the  corn  barn  they  came  upon  Meloon,  who 
was  shelling  corn  against  a  long,  flat  piece  of  iron 
fixed  in  a  large  basket.  He  glanced  at  Billy,  glanced 
again,  and  then  suddenly  rose  from  the  stool  on 
which  he  was  seated.  He  looked  at  Hildreth,  and 
some  indefinable  change  came  over  his  face.  He 
stood  up  straight  and  flung  back  his  shoulders. 

44  Well,"  he  said,  and  his  tone  was  so  firm  as  to  be 
almost  challenging,  u  are  you  two  coming  to  tell  me 
that  you  are  going  to  marry  each  other  ?" 

Billy  laughed. 

44  Marry !"  She  laughed  again.  She  folded  her 
tremulous  hands  under  her  shawl.  She  could  not 
stand  there  a  moment. 

44 1  must  hurry,"  she  said;  "the  biscuit  will  be 
spoiled." 

She  turned  away. 

"  Wait,"  returned  Meloon,  4'  until  I  can  tell  you 
that  some  one  has  come  for  you.  There  she  is  now." 

A  door  had  been  thrown  open,  and  there  stepped 
from  the  threshold  a  tall  woman  who  was  so  wrapped 
in  furs  that  her  pale  face  appeared  to  be  framed  in 
fur.  She  had  a  cane  in  one  hand,  and  she  moved 
slowly. 


XIII 
FAILURE 

BILLY  watched  that  figure  an  instant  before  she 
stirred.  Her  face  was  alive  with  the  keenest 
interest  and  pain.  After  this  brief  hesitation 
she  hurried  forward,  and  Hildreth  kept  pace  with 
her.  Behind  the  stranger  there  appeared  Mrs. 
Armstrong's  shrinking  figure  and  alarmed  counte- 
nance. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Runciman  !"  cried  Billy,  at  last. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are,"  was  the  response,  in  a  musi- 
cal, authoritative  tone. 

The  new-comer  paused,  leaning  on  her  stick  and 
gazing  at  the  two.  Vane  advanced  and  kissed  his 
aunt's  cheek. 

"What  have  you  two  been  doing?"  she  asked,  with 
still  more  authority.  "  You're  not  at  any  silly  love- 
making,  I  trust." 

Hildreth  frowned,  but  the  girl  laughed  just  as  she 
had  laughed  a  moment  before  at  Meloon's  remark. 

"Why  do  people  always  think  of  love-making?" 
she  said. 

"Because,"  was  the  immediate  answer,  "there  is 
usually  reason  for  thinking  thus;  and  you,  Billy 
Armstrong,  are  just  the  girl  to  make  people  think 
of  love-making." 

These  last  words  were  spoken  with  some  severity. 
Miss  Runciman  added,  quickly :  "  But  I  suppose  it 

101 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

makes  no  difference.  Come  into  the  house;  the 
wind  is  like  ice." 

She  shivered,  drew  her  furs  more  closely,  and 
turned  slowly  towards  the  door,  leaning  on  her  stick. 
Hildreth  drew  her  arm  within  his. 

"  I  thought  you  were  at  Tampa,  Aunt  Leonora," 
he  said. 

"  I  ought  to  be  at  Tampa,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  de- 
layed that  I  might  see  Miss  Armstrong.  At  the  very 
last  moment  it  was  borne  in  upon  me  that  I  might 
save  her." 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  hovering,  was  listening  distress- 
fully ;  her  daughter  glanced  at  her,  but  no  one  else 
seemed  to  notice  her.  Billy  softly  joined  her  mother, 
and  took  and  held  her  hand. 

"  Save  her  to  the  world?"  said  Hildreth,  but  more 
as  an  assertion  than  a  question.  "  To  the  world  of 
song  ?" 

"  No— no — save  her  from  the  world." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  gasped.  What  did  this  woman 
mean  now?  She  was  a  terrible  woman,  and  what- 
ever she  wanted  done  was  sure  to  be  done. 

Hildreth  advanced  a  step.  They  were  in  the  sit- 
ting-room now,  and  he  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  fire 
and  watched  his  aunt  as  she  placed  herself  in  it.  She 
flung  back  her  cloak,  removed  her  gloves,  and  held 
her  white,  ringed  hands  towards  the  blaze. 

When  Billy  had  last  seen  this  woman  there  were 
some  gray  hairs  in  her  head ;  now  her  hair  was  al- 
most white,  but  it  was  still  abundant,  and  was  very 
beautiful.  She  looked  wasted,  but  dominant. 

"Yes,"  she  repeated,  gazing  into  the  fire.  "  I  am 
going  to  save  Billy.  I  owe  that  to  her.  I  should 
want  to  save  her,  anyway  ;  but,  considering  the  past, 
I  really  owe  it  to  her." 

102 


FAILURE 

Mrs.  Armstrong  sat  down  quickly. 

"  The  Lord  is  coming,"  she  said,  in  a  clear,  solemn 
voice.  "  He  will  judge  the  living  and  the  dead.  Let 
us  be  ready  to  meet  Him." 

Having  spoken  thus  boldly,  she  was  abashed  at 
what  she  had  done. 

Miss  Runciman  turned  eagerly  towards  her.  Her 
large  eyes  glowed. 

"  Amen,  and  amen !"  she  responded,  fervently ; 
"even  so,  come,  Lord  Jesus  !" 

Billy  stared  uneasily ;  Hildreth's  face  showed  his 
irritation  and  dislike.  What  was  this  woman  think- 
ing of? 

"  What  is  your  fad  now,  Aunt  Leonora  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Fad  ?  You  are  an  irreverent  boy.  Do  you  call  it 
a  fad  to  be  able  to  come  from  the  darkness  into  the 
light?" 

Miss  Runciman  leaned  again  towards  the  fire.  No 
one  spoke.  Presently  Mrs.  Armstrong  rose.  She 
went  to  Miss  Runciman  and  took  one  of  her  hands 
in  both  of  her  own. 

"Do  you  really  mean  it?"  she  asked.  "You  did 
not  come  to  make  my  daughter  try  to  sing  again  ?" 

" No;  I  came  to  save  her  from  such  a  trial." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  dropped  the  hand.  She  hurriedly 
drew  a  handkerchief  from  her  pocket  and  covered 
her  face  with  it.  She  sobbed ;  her  slender  frame 
shook. 

With  a  tender  look  Miss  Runciman's  eyes  dwelt 
on  the  slight  figure  near  her. 

"  I  urged  my  nephew  to  find  Miss  Armstrong," 
she  said.  "  In  fact,  it  was  I  who  did  find  her.  I 
wanted  her  to  sing.  I  felt  sure  that  she  could.  Then 
the  change  came  to  me.  A  preacher  of  the  gospel 
who  had  the  spirit  of  God  in  him  opened  my  eyes. 

103 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

I  was  blind,  but  now  I  see.  Then  it  was  borne  in 
upon  me  that  I  must  snatch  Billy  from  her  fate.  1 
tried  to  reason  myself  out  of  this  conviction,  but  it 
was  too  strong.  It  was  God  Himself  who  was  mak- 
ing it  too  strong.  So  I  had  to  come.  I  have  feared 
every  moment  that  it  was  too  late." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  still  weeping  quietly. 

"  Nobody  knows  how  I  have  suffered,"  she  said. 
"There  in  Paris  it  was  dreadful — dreadful.  I  felt  as 
if  I  was  serving  the  devil ;  but  I  couldn't  desert  my 
child.  But  now,  since  you,  Miss  Runciman,  who  led 
her  away,  have  come — " 

"Mother!"  cried  Billy. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  her 
daughter,  whose  features  were  set. 

"  Mother,  it  is  too  late,"  said  the  girl. 

Hildreth  came  nearer;  he  partially  extended  his 
hand,  and  then  drew  it  back. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  you  are  too  late,  Aunt  Leo- 
nora." 

Miss  Runciman  rose.  Her  cloak  fell  in  a  heap  to 
the  floor. 

"  Not  too  late  to  save  her  soul !"  she  cried. 

Hildreth  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  was  so  angry 
that  he  hardly  knew  what  to  say. 

"  She  doesn't  contemplate  losing  her  soul,  but  she 
does  mean  to  get  back  her  voice,"  he  returned. 

"  It  is  the  same  thing." 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoulders  again. 

"Aunt,"  he  remarked,  "you  make  me  think  of 
those  Frenchwomen  who,  when  they  were  too  old 
to  enjoy  the  dissoluteness  they  had  once  enjoyed, 
took  up  piety.  Somehow  I  had  never  expected  you 
to  take  up  piety." 

Miss  Runciman  looked  Hildreth  over  from  head  to 
104 


FAILURE 

foot.    But  there  was  neither  anger  nor  scorn  in  her 
face,  only  regret. 

She  clasped  her  hands. 

"  It  is  just — it  is  just,"  she  murmured  ;  then  more 
loudly,  "  But  surely  God  will  give  me  the  victory." 

"  Aunt,  I  really  can't  make  out  whether  you're 
just  posing,  or  are  in  earnest." 

Still  Miss  Runciman  did  not  seem  angry  ;  her  face 
grew  more  mournful. 

"  It  is  just,"  she  repeated.  She  turned  towards 
Mrs.  Armstrong.  "  The  Lord  permits  many  things 
which  we  cannot  understand,"  she  continued;  "  but 
He  sometimes  gives  power  to  His  instruments.  I 
am  an  instrument  in  His  hands.  He  has  commanded 
me  to  save  your  daughter  from  that  worldly  life. 
That's  why  I  hastened  here  when  I  ought  to  be  in 
Florida.  This  chill  air  makes  me  suffer;  but  what 
of  that  ?  Billy,"  she  rose  as  she  spoke — rose  slowly, 
and  with  a  visible  effort.  She  walked  to  the  girl 
and  put  a  hand  on  each  of  her  shoulders.  She  was 
the  taller,  and  she  looked  steadily  down  into  the 
clear  eyes  that  were  raised  with  a  resolved  expres- 
sion in  them.  So  unmistakable  was  this  expression 
that  the  elder  woman's  face  grew  graver  yet,  if  that 
were  possible. 

"  You  used  to  obey  me,"  said  Miss  Runciman  at 
last. 

"  That  was  when  I  loved  you,"  was  the  response. 

"Ah!"     Something   passed    across  the  woman' 
countenance.     "  Do  you  mean,"  she  said,  "  that  you 
don't  love  me  now  ?" 

Billy  hesitated.  She  could  not  bear  to  hurt  any- 
one— unless  it  seemed  necessary. 

"Answer  me." 

"  Yes  ;  that  is  what  I  mean,"  bravely.     "  You  have 
105 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

been  very  cruel  to  me.  I  don't  believe  in  you  any 
more  ;  I  can't." 

The  girl  thought  that  she  had  never  said  anything 
so  difficult  ;  and  even  as  she  spoke  she  was  aware 
of  the  stirring  of  the  old,  unreasonable  affection  she 
had  once  felt  for  the  prima  donna. 

Miss  Runciman's  hands  remained  a  moment 
longer  on  the  girl's  shoulders ;  then  they  dropped 
heavily,  and  she  turned  away.  She  went  unstead- 
ily to  her  chair  and  sank  into  it,  covering  her 
face. 

Billy  hastened  to  her  side,  and  drew  the  cloak  up 
about  her.  She  was  thinking  that  nothing  Miss 
Runciman  could  have  done  would  have  moved  her 
so  deeply  as  this  sudden,  apparent  giving  up  ;  and 
then  the  suspicion  would  come  :  Did  Miss  Runciman 
know  that  this  attitude  would  be  thus  moving  ?  So 
Billy  hardened  her  heart.  Having  wrapped  the  cloak 
about  her,  she  stood  back,  leaning  against  the  side 
of  the  chimney-piece,  and  waiting. 

The  silence  in  the  room  was  unbroken  for  a  few 
moments. 

At  last  Miss  Runciman  looked  up  and  said  : 

"  Vane,  will  you  tell  the  man  who  is  waiting  with 
his  carriage  that  I  am  ready  to  go?" 

This  was  so  unexpected  that  Hildreth  hesitated. 
He  did  not  wish  to  leave  the  room  ;  he  distrusted 
Miss  Runciman.  When  he  had  left  her,  before  com- 
ing to  the  Meloon  farm,  she  had  earnestly — nay,  al- 
most fiercely — urged  him  to  go  to  Wilhelmina  Arm- 
strong and  see  to  it  that  she  endeavored  to  regain 
her  voice.  And  here  she  was,  possessed  by  a  relig- 
ious mania  that  threatened  to  undo  everything. 
He  knew  that,  as  long  as  it  lasted,  this  mania  would 
override  all  else.  How  should  he  fight  it  ?  He  had 

106 


"SHE   WAS    LEANING    HEAVILY    ON    HER   NEPHEW'S   ARM 


FAILURE 

little  hope  that  Billy  could  successfully  combat  her 
mother  and  Miss  Runciman. 

"  Vane,  go,"  repeated  the  lady,  and  he  walked  out 
of  the  room  ;  at  the  door  he  cast  a  pleading  look  at 
Billy,  but  she  did  not  see  it ;  she  was  looking  at  their 
guest. 

As  the  young  man  shut  the  door  behind  him,  Miss 
Runciman  turned  quickly  and  held  out  her  hand  to 
the  girl. 

"Come  here!"  imperatively.     Billy  obeyed. 

"  I  forbid  you  to  go  back  to  the  old  life,"  she  said, 
sternly.  "  Your  mother  forbids  it.  Never  sing  an- 
other note.  It  is  the  devil  who  tempts  you." 

"  You  are  too  late,"  said  the  girl  again. 

"Oh,  Miny  !"  from  her  mother. 

"  Yes,  too  late.  It  was  not  the  devil  who  gave  me 
my  voice." 

"  It  was  God  who  took  it  away  from  you,"  sol- 
emnly. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  You  can't  know  it ;  and 
you  shall  not  talk  so  to  me.  I  will  not  stay  here." 

Billy  walked  from  the  room.  She  met  Vane  re- 
turning. He  caught  at  her  sleeve. 

"What  have  you  promised?"  he  whispered,  hur- 
riedly. 

"  Nothing." 

She  went  swiftly  up  the  stairs  to  her  own  room. 
She  sat  down  by  the  window,  leaning  her  forehead 
against  the  glass  and  watching. 

Presently  she  saw  Miss  Runciman  go  towards  the 
carriage;  she  was  leaning  heavily  on  her  nephew's 
arm,  and  it  seemed  to  the  girl  that  she  was  weeping. 
Then  Billy  felt  as  if  her  own  heart  were  breaking. 
She  was  used  to  seeing  her  mother  weep — she  ex- 
pected her  to  weep;  but  Leonora  Runciman? — 

107 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

And  could  it  be  possible  that  the  woman  was  right  ? 
And  had  God,  indeed,  taken  away  her  voice?  How 
could  she  find  out  if  God  had  done  this  thing?  If 
He  had,  of  course  it  would  be  wicked  to  struggle. 
If  He  had  not— 

She  started  up  in  painful  excitement.  She  was  not 
going  to  yield  until  she  had  made  the  attempt.  How 
did  people  know  what  God  meant?  And  what  one 
person  said  He  meant  was  directly  opposite  to  what 
another  person  said. 

She  went  down  the  back  stairs  that  she  might  not 
be  so  likely  to  meet  any  one.  She  wished  to  be  out 
in  the  air  for  a  time.  She  was  hurrying  along  with 
her  head  bent  when  she  almost  ran  into  some  one. 

"Hullo!"  exclaimed  Meloon.  "Has  your  visitor 
gone  ?" 

"  Yes.  Oh,  Mr.  Meloon,  I  want  your  advice ;  I 
think  you  have  common-sense ;  you  can  reason." 

"  Thank  you ;  it's  more  than  I  can  say  for  my- 
self." 

Meloon  gazed  at  the  girl  an  instant  in  silence; 
then  he  said : 

"  Let  us  go  down  the  lane." 

She  walked  by  his  side.  He  carried  a  bill-hook  in 
one  hand,  and  as  he  walked  he  sometimes  struck  off 
a  small  branch  from  an  oak  sapling  he  had  cut  down. 
He  did  not  speak ;  there  was  somehow,  Billy  thought, 
an  atmosphere  of  out-of-doors  about  him  ;  a  serenity 
of  strength;  as  if  he  were  immeasurably  removed 
from  battles  and  perplexities ;  as  if  he  really  breathed 
the  air  of  heaven. 

"That  was  Leonora  Runciman,"  at  last  said  Billy, 
abruptly. 

"  Yes,"  he  responded. 

"  You  know  her  ?"  in  surprise. 
10$ 


FAILURE 

"  I  have  heard  her  sing." 

Meloon  had  trimmed  his  sapling  into  a  walking- 
stick. 

"  I'm  going  to  say  one  or  two  things  to  you,  Billy," 
he  began.  "  You  needn't  tell  me  what  she  came  for. 
No  matter  what  she  came  for." 

"  Oh  !"  sighed  the  girl,  in  a  relieved  manner. 

Meloon  smiled.  He  turned  and  studied  the  girl's 
face  again. 


XIV 
ANOTHER   TRIAL 

"I  DON'T  see  any  use  in  your  stifling  yourself," 

I    Meloon  remarked,  as  if  he  were  saying  the  most 

obvious  thing.  "You  are  an  individual;  so  long 

as  you  do  nothing  wrong,  you  have  a  right  to  your 

life,  whatever  it  may  turn  out  to  be." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  from  Billy. 

"  The  oracle  has  spoken,"  went  on  Meloon,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  But  mother  " — hesitatingly. 

"  That  matter  is  between  you  and  your  conscience. 
As  for  me,  I  think  your  mother  is  wrong." 

"Will  you  tell  her  so?" 

"  Yes;  but  it  will  make  no  difference." 

The  two  were  still  going  up  the  lane.  Billy 
stopped.  She  laid  a  hesitating  hand  on  her  com- 
panion's arm ;  she  looked  up  somewhat  timidly  at 
him. 

"  You  have  done  me  so  much  good,"  she  said. 

"  Then  I  must  have  advised  you  according  to  your 
inclinations.  That's  the  way  to  do  if  you  want  a  per- 
son to  take  your  advice." 

"  Please  shake  hands,"  said  Billy. 

Meloon  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  put  hers  in  it ; 
it  was  held  very  closely  for  an  instant. 

"You  make  things  seem  as  if  they  could  be  done," 
she  said. 

no 


ANOTHER  TRIAL 

"Do  I?  That's  the  next  thing  to  doing  them; 
isn't  it?" 

But  she  did  not  answer.  She  had  left  him,  and 
was  running  back  towards  the  house,  running  fleetly 
and  with  abandon,  as  an  animal  moves. 

Meloon  dropped  his  stick  and  his  bill -hook;  he 
thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  watched  the 
figure  flying  along  the  lane.  As  he  watched,  an  ex- 
pression of  deep  melancholy  came  to  his  face.  He 
stood  thus  until  the  girl  had  gone  the  other  side  of 
the  corn  barn.  Then  he  pulled  out  a  hand  to  stroke 
his  mustache. 

"  I  make  things  seem  as  if  they  could  be  done,  do 
I?"  he  said,  aloud.  "Well,  some  things  seem  to  me 
as  if  they  couldn't  be  done.  A  man  may  be  permit- 
ted to  make  a  jackass  of  himself  in  many  ways ;  but 
of  all  the  ways,  I've  chosen  the  worst.  Of  course, 
she  can  never  know  whether  she's  happy  or  not  un- 
til she  has  either  regained  her  voice  or  knows  that 
she  can't.  Ah,  dear  me!  I  wish  I  was  as  wise  as  I 
look.  But  that  girl  probably  thinks  me  old  enough  to 
have  gathered  the  wisdom  of  centuries  into  my  nod- 
dle. I  suppose  her  mother  has  told  her  that  I  was 
once  in  love  with  her — catch  a  woman  to  forget  to 
tell  that !  Well,  Serissa  was  a  pretty  girl,  and  I  was 
three  years  younger,  not  out  of  my  teens.  Can't 
somebody  tell  Billy  that  I'm  still  really  quite 
young?" 

Here  Meloon's  mustache  went  up  in  a  satirical 
smile.  He  stooped  and  picked  up  his  bill-hook  and 
his  stick.  He  walked  on,  but  he  turned  and  went 
away  from  the  house. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  wept,  and  remonstrated,  and 
prayed,  all  to  no  purpose.  Her  daughter  was  firm. 
Then  the  mother  patiently  told  her  that  she  was 

in 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

ready  to  go  anywhere,  even  to  Paris  again,  though 
Paris  was  only  another  name  for  hell. 

"  But  I'm  not  going  anywhere,"  was  the  unexpected 
response.  "  I  shall  stay  here,  for  a  long  time  at 
least.  Mr.  Hildreth  is  my  teacher.  I  shall  keep  on 
with  my  work,  but  I  shall  do  as  he  says.  I  shall  be- 
gin away  down,  and  there  are  physical  exercises  to 
strenghten  the  muscles  of  my  chest — " 

Here  Mrs.  Armstrong  became  almost  hysterical 
with  her  relief.  But  she  made  an  effort  to  control 
her  emotion. 

"  I  should  think  butter-making  would  be  a  good 
exercise,"  she  said. 

"So  it  is ;  I've  grown  strong  here — I  never  was  so 
strong  in  my  life.  I  was  worn  out  there  in  Paris — I 
overdid  everything  —  I  lived  on  excitement.  Per- 
haps— oh,  mother — perhaps  my  voice  will  come  back 
to  me !  If  it  only  will  I  shall  be  the  happiest  girl  in 
the  world!" 

She  flung  her  arms  about  her  mother,  and  put  her 
head  down  on  her  shoulder.  But  she  did  not  cry; 
her  eyes  were  dry  and  hot. 

The  next  day  she  began  to  follow  Hildreth's  direc- 
tions. These  at  first  were  almost  entirely  in  refer- 
ence to  her  physical  well-being:  she  bathed  her 
throat  and  chest  in  cold  water ;  she  rubbed  her  flesh 
until  it  glowed.  She  took  deep,  full  breaths  of  the 
clear,  cold  air ;  she  walked  over  the  fields — she  and 
Lotos,  for  Hildreth  scrupulously  refrained  from  ac- 
companying her.  He  was  never  with  her  save  for 
the  few  moments  when  it  was  necessary  to  give  his 
directions.  They  both  kept  on  with  their  work,  hav- 
ing asked  and  gained  permission  of  the  master  of  the 
house. 

When  Billy  did  essay  the  first  note,  her  voice  rough- 
112 


ANOTHER  TRIAL 

ened  across  her  throat  so  that  she  gave  one  glance 
of  despair  at  Hildreth,  and  then  sat  down  and  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands. 

Hildreth  had  been  leaning  against  a  window-frame 
with  his  back  to  the  light.  He  turned  quickly  and 
gazed  out-of-doors.  A  few  flakes  of  snow  were  be- 
ginning to  fall ;  the  wind  was  northeast  and  whistled 
shrilly.  The  young  man  felt  the  first  feeling  of  doubt 
he  had  known  in  regard  to  his  success.  But  he  must 
succeed;  he  must  wrest  victory  even  from  defeat. 
He  was  rigid  with  the  acuteness  of  his  suffering  and 
his  self-control.  He  must  not  express  any  tender- 
ness ;  he  was  aware  that  tenderness  would  not  be  tol- 
erated for  an  instant.  Still,  if  he  should  be  the  means 
of  restoring  Billy's  voice  to  her,  what  might  not  the 
girl's  gratitude  do  for  him  ?  But,  aside  from  any  per- 
sonal plans  or  hopes,  it  was  true  that  Hildreth  longed 
strenuously  to  be  the  means  of  giving  back  to  the 
world  this  voice  that  it  had  yet  barely  heard.  Again 
he  told  himself  that  if  Wilhelmina  Armstrong  were 
ugly  and  repulsive  he  would  do  just  as  he  was  doing 
now.  It  matters  little  whether  he  would  or  not ;  but 
he  liked  to  think  that  it  mattered. 

As  soon  as  he  was  able  he  turned  towards  the  room. 

"  We'll  try  that  again,"  he  said,  dryly.  "  We  expect 
so  little  now  that  we  can't  be  disappointed." 

Billy  looked  up  in  astonishment ;  but  she  was  a 
docile  and  determined  pupil,  and  she  immediately 
obeyed.  The  result  was  a  trifle  better.  In  half  an 
hour  it  was  better  still,  but  her  spirits  did  not  rise. 
Where  was  some  hint  of  the  volume,  the  resonance, 
which  had  belonged  to  her  tones? 

But  she  said  nothing.  Just  as  she  was  leaving  the 
room,  Hildreth  spoke. 

"  Miss  Armstrong,  I  repeat  my  prediction :  in  one 

H  113 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

year  from  now  you  shall  be  a  priina  donna.  You 
have  already  learned  the  technicalities.  Suddenly — 
or  it  will  seem  suddenly — you  will  have  your  power 
again." 

She  paused  with  the  door  in  her  hand. 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  say  so,"  she  said,  coldly ; 
"but  you  can't  be  right.  Still,  I  am  going  to  give 
myself  a  year;  for  a  year  I  will  work." 

Then  she  left  the  room  and  went  straight  to  the 
kitchen,  where  she  brought  out  flour,  and  lard,  and 
cake-board,  and  rolling-pin,  and  began  the  making 
of  pie-crust.  She  worked  steadily,  like  an  automa- 
ton ;  her  mother,  seeing  her,  did  not  dare  to  speak  to 
her,  but  in  her  heart  she  gave  a  thanksgiving. 

When  Meloon  came  into  the  shed  in  the  rear  of 
the  kitchen  stamping  the  snow  from  his  feet,  Billy 
paused  in  rolling  the  pie-crust ;  then  she  shook  her 
floury  hands  over  the  board  and  went  into  the 
shed. 

Meloon's  shoulders  and  hat  were  covered  with 
snow;  Trooper  and  Lotos  had  entered  with  him  and 
were  shaking  themselves. 

Meloon  removed  his  hat  immediately,  and  looked 
eagerly  at  the  girl.  He  had  known  that  the  first 
lesson  was  to  be  given  to-day. 

Billy  had  paused  just  within  the  door;  she  was 
asking  herself  why  she  had  come  out ;  having  asked 
that  question,  she  turned  to  go,  but  Meloon,  in  a 
couple  of  strides,  was  beside  her.  His  strong  eyes 
shone  under  his  tumbled  hair;  they  shone  right  into 
her  soul,  the  girl  thought,  with  encouragement  and 
power. 

"  I'm  glad  you  came  here  now,"  said  Meloon,  in  a 
tone  somewhat  different  from  any  she  had  ever 
heard  from  him. 

114 


ANOTHER   TRIAL 

"  But  I'm  sorry,"  she  returned,  hurriedly; "  it  seems 
so  childish." 

He  had  been  bending  slightly  towards  her ;  but 
he  drew  back  now.  He  smoothed  his  hair  with  a 
slow  gesture,  glancing  away  from  her.  "I  am  just 
three  years  younger  than  her  mother,"  he  was 
thinking. 

He  smiled  in  that  hearty,  genial  way  which  she 
knew  so  well.  » 

"  It  isn't  childish  a  bit,"  he  responded.  "  I  saw 
by  your  face  that  you  hadn't  made  a  great  success 
of  this  first  lesson.  I  know  your  face  rather  well " 
— here  he  paused,  and  then  added,  in  an  extremely 
matter-of-fact  way,  but  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes : 

"  '  If  at  first  you  don't  succeed,  Try,  try  again.' 
'  There's  no  royal  road  to  success ' — and  so  on.  But, 
you  know,  I'm  not  laughing  at  you.  You  came  out 
to  me  because  your  mother  isn't  in  sympathy  with 
you  in  this  matter,  and  you  know  I  am.  An  old 
fellow  like  me  ought  to  have  gathered  up  the  wis- 
dom of  ages.  That's  just  what  I've  been  doing  all 
those  years — gathering  up  wisdom.  And  now  I  tell 
you,  Billy,  don't  be  disheartened.  With  all  the  rest 
of  my  knowledge,  I'm  a  prophet ;  and  I  see  you  vic- 
torious— victorious  just  as  you  want  to  be.  Don't 
give  up.  Dear  child — are  you  crying  ?" 

His  voice  suddenly  dropped  and  trembled ;  he  was 
silent. 

He  saw  the  tears  fall  from  Billy's  eyes. 

"  I'm  just  crying  because  you  comfort  me,"  she 
whispered. 

"  Keep  right  on  crying  then,"  was  the  response. 

She  had  put  her  apron  up  to  her  face ;  and  her 
apron  directly  became  floury  from  her  hands. 

"Mr.  Hildreth  tried  to  encourage  me,"  she  said, 


THE    MELOO*    FARM 

behind  her  veil ;  "  but  somehow  you  always  do  give 
me  strength." 

"I'm  glad  of  that." 

"Yes,  just  to  be  with  you  gives  me  strength,  Mr. 
Meloon.  Thank  you  so  much." 

"Oh,  don't  thank  me,"  sharply;  "I  don't  think  I 
can  bear  that." 

She  let  fall  her  apron  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Can't  you  ?  I'm  not  going  to  be  as  weak  as  this 
again.  I'm  just  going  right  on  croaking  like  a  crow 
for  one  year — then  I  shall  give  it  up  forever." 

She  hurried  back  to  the  kitchen — she  was  as  good 
as  her  word.  She  never  said  anything  more  on  the 
subject,  but  doggedly  kept  on.  Two  afternoons  in 
a  week  the  sitting-room  was  given  up  to  teacher  and 
pupil.  As  Hildreth  unfolded  the  theory  of  the 
Boldrea  method  by  which  he  taught,  and  as  Billy 
understood  and  practised  it,  she  became  interested 
in  one  way  as  if  she  were  watching  an  experiment 
outside  of  herself. 

If  Hildreth  had  looked  forward  to  these  half-hours 
when  he  should  be  alone  with  the  girl,  he  must  have 
been  greatly  disappointed.  She  was,  indeed,  alone 
with  him,  but  he  might  have  been  merely  a  machine, 
the  incarnation  simply  of  his  method,  for  all  that 
she  showed  to  the  contrary.  She  grasped  with  ea- 
gerness and  clearness  everything  he  told  her  ;  she 
watched  him  with  an  enthusiastic  keenness  that  was 
touchingly  mingled  with  melancholy.  It  was  plainer 
and  plainer,  as  the  weeks  of  that  winter  went  on, 
that  Billy  was  losing  heart,  though  she  abated  not  a 
whit  in  her  endeavors.  She  improved;  but  what  of 
that  ? — she  asked  herself.  She  thought  with  violent 
bitterness  that  in  time  she  might  be  fitted  to  take 
an  occasional  solo  in  the  village  choir.  She  recalled 

116 


ANOTHER  TRIAL 

that  other  winter  that  she  had  spent  in  studying 
under  the  patronage  of  Miss  Runciman.  How  dif- 
ferent that  had  been.  A  glorious  victory  seemed 
then  just  before  her ;  she  chased  it ;  she  caught  hold 
of  its  flying  garments.  When  she  reached  this 
stage  of  her  thoughts  they  grew  black  with  despair. 
But  she  would  not  give  up — not  until  the  year  was 
out.  This  was  her  last,  her  very  last  struggle.  So 
the  winter  passed  away,  swiftly,  in  spite  of  its  de- 
spondence. She  was  always  at  work.  She  felt  that 
she  had  never  had  such  vigorous  health — a  spirit  of 
very  strength  coursed  in  her  blood  ;  her  breaths 
were  deep,  her  chest  full.  This  abounding  health 
sometimes  chased  away  her  dark  spirits,  but  not  for 
long.  She  compared  this  physical  condition  with 
the  worn  and  tense  state  which  she  had  been  in  when 
she  had  finished  her  studies  in  Paris  ;  but  it  was  all 
too  late  now. 

It  fretted  her  to  see  that  her  mother's  cheerfulness 
increased  with  every  week;  she  knew  what  that  meant. 
And,  notwithstanding  his  efforts  to  conceal  his  grow- 
ing discouragement,  Billy  saw  that  Hildreth  was  not 
as  hopeful  as  he  had  been.  She  asked  him  no  ques- 
tions. Once,  at  the  end  of  a  lesson,  he  burst  out 
with,  "You  are  improving — I  don't  understand  it!" 
and  she  had  responded  as  if  she  had  been  speaking 
of  a  matter  indifferent  to  her:  "You  will  soon  be 
obliged  to  understand  that  I  am  a  failure." 

"  No — no  !"  the  young  man  had  cried,  "  that  is 
impossible." 

"On  the  contrary,  it  is  not  only  possible,  it  is 
probable." 

She  had  left  the  room  then,  and  Hildreth  had  rushed 
out  of  the  house,  hurrying  to  be  alone  in  the  fields. 
He  had  to  give  vent  to  his  excitement  somewhere. 

117 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

This  was  in  March.  Not  a  word  had  been  heard 
from  Miss  Runciman  since  her  visit,  save  for  one 
brief  note  that  she  had  sent  immediately  on  her 
arrival  at  Tampa.  This  had  been  addressed  to 
Billy,  and  of  late  the  girl  had  formed  the  habit  of 
reading  it  over  and  over  with  an  intensity  of  indig- 
nation which  had  at  last  changed  to  a  superstitious 
fear.  This  was  the  note  : 

••DEAR  BILLY  ARMSTRONG, —  The  Boldrca  method,  if 
persisted  in,  can  almost  perform  miracles;  but  God  is  great- 
er than  the  Boldrea  method,  and  God  will  save  your  soul, 
I  do  believe,  even  in  spite  of  you.  You  will  be  studying  this 
winter,  but  I  shall  be  doing  more  than  that.  Listen  to  what 
I  shall  do:  I  shall  pray  morning,  noon,  and  night  that  you 
may  fail — .fail  for  the  sake  of  your  everlasting  salvation. 
And  God  will  be  on  my  side;  God  will  answer  me.  I  owe 
this  to  you,  for  I  was  the  cause  of  your  serving  Satan  by  be- 
coming an  opera-singer.  Now  I  am  going  to  snatch  you  as 
a  brand  from  the  burning  pile.  Remember,  while  you  work 
to  get  back  your  voice.  I  shall  wrestle  with  God  to  keep  your 
voice  from  you.  Your  mother  mingles  her  prayers  with 
mine." 

This  note  Billy  always  wore  about  her  person.  She 
had  a  notion  that  if  she  had  it  with  her,  she  could 
combat  it  with  a  greater  chance  of  success,  for  she 
had  come  to  regard  the  resolution  of  Miss  Runciman 
as  a  kind  of  spell.  Perhaps  she  could  not  succeed  in 
any  fight  against  this  spell.  Was  she  fighting  against 
God  ?  At  last  it  came  about  that  she  would  lie  awake 
nights  thinking  of  those  prayers,  and  she  became 
aware  that  she  was  losing  her  courage,  and  to  lose 
her  courage  meant  that  she  was  losing  the  battle. 

April  had  come  ;  it  was  very  mild  ;  the  singing  of 
birds  was  heard  in  the  land.  Of  course  it  would  be 
cold  enough  again  to  freeze  in  the  night,  but  now  the 

118 


ANOTHER  TRIAL 

snow  that  had  been  lying  in  long,  sloping  banks  at 
the  north  side  of  walls  and  fences  was  disappearing ; 
a  faint  vapor  could  be  seen  rising  from  it  into  the 
warm  sunshine.  The  sap  in  the  maple-trees  was  run- 
ning— "  sapping-time  "  was  here. 

All  day  the  men  were  up  the  hill  at  the  sapping- 
house  among  the  maples.  At  noon  Billy  would  start 
out  with  her  skirts  pinned  up  and  with  rubber  boots 
on  her  feet,  carrying  two  tin  pails  heavy  with  the 
dinner  for  the  men.  Lotos  always  went  with  her,  but 
Trooper  stayed  up  at  the  hut  in  the  woods  night  and 
day,  sleeping  beside  the  mattress  on  which  his  master 
slept.  Meloon  never  left  the  boiling  of  the  sap  to 
any  one  else.  There  was  a  strong  delight  to  him  in 
striding  about  at  midnight  with  his  lantern  in  his 
hand  and  Trooper  at  his  heels  among  the  trees,  tak- 
ing down  the  buckets  full  of  sap  from  their  pegs,  and 
putting  others  in  place. 

He  was  alone  in  the  world.  Sometimes  the  wind 
was  soft  and  sweet,  sometimes  it  rushed  in  cold  blasts 
from  the  north.  Two  or  three  times  on  moonlight 
nights  he  had  seen  in  the  distance  the  dim  bulk  of  a 
bear,  and  heard  the  crush  of  branches  beneath  its 
feet ;  and  often  he  heard  the  sharp  bark  of  a  fox. 
But  this  year  there  was  a  subtle  melancholy — almost 
a  regret — for  which  he  could  not  account ;  at  the 
same  time  these  solitary  hours  brought  with  them  a 
delicate  happiness  which  he  had  never  known  before. 
There  was  some  grimness  in  his  resolution  not  to 
try  to  analyze  these  emotions ;  it  was  enough  to  feel 
them. 

One  day  he  was  on  the  slope  of  the  hill  selecting 
some  trees  to  tap  for  the  first  time ;  he  had  his  bit  in 
his  hand  and  his  basket  of  little  wooden  spiles  on  his 
arm.  He  heard  a  sound  in  the  path  below  him,  and, 

119 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

glancing  clown,  saw  Billy  and  Lotos  ascending.  He 
had  seen  them  coming  on  other  days,  but  something 
suddenly  assured  him  that  this  was  a  day  different 
from  other  days. 

He  watched  the  girl ;  she  did  not  see  him,  and  he 
could  look  at  her  intently. 


XV 

"IT  HAS  COME!" 

IT  was  but  a  moment  before  Billy  raised  her  eyes. 
"You  ought  to  harness  the  brown  horse  into 
the  light  cart — it's  too  much  for  you  to  walk  up 
with  those  heavy  pails." 

The  girl  had  reached  the  man's  side  as  he  finished 
speaking.  Face  and  eyes  were  glowing.  She  set 
down  the  pails  and  threw  back  her  shoulders. 

"  I  like  to  do  it,"  she  said. 

She  came  yet  nearer.  Meloon  had  an  impulse  to 
put  his  hand  above  his  eyes  as  he  saw  fully  the  efful- 
gence of  hers. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  asked.  "Have  you 
been  singing?" 

"  No — no  ;  but  I  think  I  can — I  think  I  can.  I 
have  just  torn  up  Miss  Runciman's  letter.  I  tore  it 
into  bits,  and  I  trampled  the  bits  into  the  mud  un- 
der my  feet." 

Meloon  did  not  smile.  Her  gravity  was  too  great 
for  him  even  to  wish  to  smile  at  this  announcement. 

"  Well  ?"  he  said,  gravely. 

"Why,  I  have  broken  the  spell;  don't  you  see?" 
with  a  laugh.  "  Not  that  I  believe  in  spells  in  the 
very  least ;  but  all  the  same,  I'm  glad  that  letter  is 
beaten  into  the  earth.  Miss  Runciman  is  a  strange 
woman.  She  gets  hold  of  one,  and  she  holds  on — 
somehow.  Oh,  I  feel  free !" 

121 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

Mrloon  contemplated  the  girl  in  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment before  he  said : 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  free  because  you  have 
given  up?" 

"  No — no ;  but  my  strength  has  reached  my  voice  ; 
I  think  so.  I  dare  to  try,  with  hope." 

She  turned  away  with  her  hands  clasped,  as  if  at 
that  instant  she  were  going  to  sing ;  but  she  turned 
back  again  directly  to  ask  : 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Meloon,  what  an  odd  no- 
tion I've  had  ever  since  I  began  taking  these 
lessons?" 

She  had  gone  nearer  to  her  companion  as  she  put 
this  question. 

"How  can  I  know?  Of  course  you've  had  odd 
notions — " 

"  Being  a  woman?"  she  interrupted.  She  laughed  ; 
but  she  blushed  slightly  as  she  went  on.  "  Yes,  I've  all 
the  time  believed  that  if  I  did  sing,  for  the  first  time 
it  would  not  be  for  Mr.  Hildreth  ;  it  would  be  for  you. 
You  know  you  give  me  strength — "  She  spoke  these 
words  with  a  solemn  earnestness  :  "  'Tis  as  if  I  felt 
your  character  —  leaned  on  it,  some  way.  Do  you 
think  me  very  silly,  Mr.  Meloon?" 

The  man  had  moved  so  that  only  his  profile  was 
visible.  Billy  fancied  that  there  was  a  setness  to  his 
face,  and  she  exclaimed  : 

"You  do  think  me  silly,  I'm  afraid.  But  I  don't 
believe  you  know  what  it  has  been  to  me  to  be  near 
you  all  these  months.  You  don't  pose  for  anything. 
I  don't  suppose  you  have  any  idea  that  you're  more 
than  a  common  man,"  she  smiled.  "  But  I'm  not 
blind,  though  I  am  an  ignorant  girl,  with  only  one 
idea  in  my  head.  I — " 

"  Won't  you  stop  ?" 

122 


"IT  HAS  COME!" 

Meloon's  manner  was  so  abrupt  that  Billy  started 
back  a  step. 

He  walked  away  a  few  yards.  When  he  returned 
he  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Billy,"  he  exclaimed,  "  but  I'm 
not  laughing  at  you.  I'm  laughing  at  myself.  I'm 
not  in  the  least  the  sort  of  creature  you  imagine; 
I'm  made  up  of  the  roughest  kind  of  clay,  and  at 
this  very  moment  I'm  as  weak  as  a  rabbit ;  so  weak, 
in  fact,  that  lest  I  say  the  most  ridiculous  things  a 
man  ever  said,  I'm  going  to  run  away  to  the  sap- 
house.  But  you  may  come,  too.  Here,  I'll  take 
those  dinner-pails." 

They  walked  on  slowly  up  the  uneven,  steep  path. 
There  was  no  snow  here  save  in  hollows  and  ruts — 
soft  snow  that  let  their  feet  down  suddenly  if  they 
unwarily  stepped  upon  it. 

Billy's  superb  breathing-power  served  her  fault- 
lessly ;  indeed,  she  had  a  sense  of  revelling  in  her 
strong  physical  condition. 

"  I've  sent  the  men  over  to  the  west  sappin'- 
house,"  said  Meloon,  when  they  reached  the  hut, 
''but  I  expect  them  back  directly.  Sit  on  this 
stool." 

He  began  to  throw  wood  into  the  huge  fire-box 
under  the  long  iron  sap-troughs.  The  sap  was  boil- 
ing rapidly  and  sending  off  volumes  of  steam  of  a 
faint  sweet  odor. 

Billy  sat  down  as  she  had  been  directed ;  but  she 
could  not  remain  seated. 

The  two  dogs  were  nosing  among  the  wet  moss 
and  sodden  leaves.  There  were  only  flickers  of  sun- 
light in  the  place.  The  flames  roared  and  snapped 
up  the  chimney;  a  gentle  wind  came  through  the 
chinks  in  the  wall  and  at.  the  open  door. 

123 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

Billy's  spirits  were  rising  with  every  moment.  She 
strolled  in  front  of  the  house.  She  stooped  to  hug 
Lotos,  who  had  begun  to  walk  behind  her.  When 
she  stood  erect  she  inflated  her  lungs  once  or  twice, 
then  she  began  to  sing: 

"  The  mountain  sheep  were  sweeter. 

But  the  valley  sheep  were  fatter ; 
We,  therefore,  deemed  it  meeter 

To  carry  off  the  latter. 
We  made  an  expedition; 

We  met  a  force  and  quelled  it; 
We  took  a  strong  position, 

And  killed  the  men  who  held  it." 

She  sang  as  she  had  never  sung  in  her  life  before, 
even  though  she  was  singing  out-of-doors,  with  no 
walls  to  restrain  and  preserve  the  sound. 

The  volume,  the  sweetness,  the  dramatic  power 
of  her  voice  astonished  even  herself. 

Meloon  had  in  his  hand  a  long  stick  of  green 
maple  with  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  poking  the 
fire.  He  leaned  on  this  stick  and  gazed  at  the  girl, 
who  was  standing  just  without  the  door.  As  her 
notes  swelled  on  the  air  her  listener's  strong,  eagle 
face  melted  in  all  its  lines  until  it  might  almost 
have  been  the  face  of  a  woman  who  is  moved  to  the 
soul. 

As  the  girl  stopped  singing  Meloon  made  a  quick 
movement  towards  her,  his  eyes  alight,  ten — nay, 
twenty — years  taken  from  his  aspect.  For  the  in- 
stant he  was  the  fiery,  hopeful  young  man ;  but 
before  Billy  had  seen  him,  he  had  changed.  He 
stood  perfectly  still ;  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his 
hand  for  the  briefest  space;  then  he  advanced  to  the 
door.  Before  he  could  speak,  Billy  had  sprung  tow- 

124 


"IT  HAS  COME!" 

ards  him.  She  caught  hold  of  his  hands  and  held 
them  fast.  She  was  pale ;  even  her  mouth  was 
white. 

"  Oh  !"  she  cried.  "  It  has  come  !  It  has  come !  I 
sang!  Did  you  hear  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  He  found  that  he  could  not 
command  his  voice,  so  he  said  nothing  more. 

"And  I  never  sang  so  well — never!" 

No  answer. 

"  I  say,"  as  one  who  must  speak  or  suffocate,  "  I 
certainly  never  sang  so  well." 

No  answer. 

The  color  was  coming  back  to  Billy's  face. 

She  loosed  her  hold  on  her  companion's  hands,  and 
began  to  walk  restlessly  again.  She  returned  to  the 
door,  where  Meloon  was  standing  watching  her.  She 
asked,  hesitatingly  : 

"  Do  you  like  my  voice,  Mr.  Meloon  ?" 

"  Yes,  more  than  I  can  tell."  He  was  quite  calm 
and  steady  now,  and  therefore  seemed  a  little  cold. 

"  And  you're  glad  ?"  she  persisted. 

"  Very." 

He  was  thinking  that  now  she  would  go  away  ; 
she  would  never  return  to  his  farm,  and  he  re- 
peated :  "  I'm  very  glad.  You  see,  Billy,  I  can't 
say  any  more  than  that  if  I  talked  an  hour." 

"  I  understand.  And  I  was  right,  Mr.  Meloon,  in 
thinking  that  my  voice  would  come  back  when  I  was 
with  you.  That  wasn't  just  a  fancy,  was  it  ?" 

"  I  sha'n't  quarrel  with  a  fancy  like  that,  at  any 
rate,"  was  the  reply. 

The  speaker  was  rapidly  stirring  the  boiling  sap, 
raising  a  ladleful  and  letting  it  drop,  apparently 
watching  it  intently.  Billy  was  near  him,  her  eyes 
also  fixed  on  the  dripping  sap. 

125 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

"  Tisn't  ready,  of  course,"  she  said,  absently. 

"Oh  no;  it  won't  be  syruped  down  for  a  long 
time.  I  wonder  where  those  men  are."  His  eyes 
went  to  the  door,  but  no  one  was  coming.  There 
was  nobody  near  but  Billy  and  the  two  dogs. 

The  girl  turned  and  looked  out.  The  doorway 
was  full  of  flickering  sunlight. 

"You'll  be  going  to  Boston  or  New  York  directly 
now,  I  suppose,"  said  Meloon,  who  was  still  stirring 
the  sap. 

"  And  you'll  lose  your  hired  girl,  you  mean,"  smil- 
ing absently. 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I  mean." 

"Oh,  I'll  give  you  warning." 

"It  seems  to  me  I'm  entitled  to  a  month's  warn- 
ing." 

"  A  week  won't  do  ?" 

"Oh  no,"  strongly.  Meloon  flung  in  more  wood. 
"I  shall  need  more  than  a  week  to  supply  your 
place." 

"  I've  made  very  good  butter,  haven't  I  ?" 

"Very." 

Billy  thought  there  was  something  harsh  in  her 
companion's  voice,  and  she  wondered  at  it.  Then 
she  thought  of  something  else. 

"  Poor  mother!"  she  said,  and  sighed.  She  laughed. 
"  If  my  cup  of  glory  is  full,  there'll  be  that  drop  of 
bitterness  in  it  —  poor  mother  !"  and  she  sighed 
again. 

There  was  the  sound  of  heavy  steps,  the  crackling 
of  twigs,  and  voices. 

"  There  come  the  men,"  she  said.  She  left  the  hut, 
and  she  and  Lotos  went  lightly  down  the  hill,  she 
with  her  head  upthrown,  taking  no  thought  of  her 
steps,  but  never  slipping  or  falling. 

126 


"IT  HAS  COME!" 

She  went  faster  and  faster  until,  when  she  came 
near  the  house,  she  was  running.  She  hurried  from 
room  to  room  until  she  reached  her  mother's  cham- 
ber. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  sitting  with  a  shawl  about 
her  shoulders,  reading  the  Bible. 

"  The  p'tatoes  wa'n't  quite  done,"  she  began,  "and 
I  had  a  minute  to  spare,  so — but,  Miny,  has  anything 
happened?" 

She  rose  so  suddenly  that  her  book  dropped  to  the 
floor.  She  seemed  to  jump  at  her  daughter,  so  quick- 
ly did  she  reach  her  side. 

"  I  can  sing,  mother !" 

"God  forbid!" 

"  God  be  thanked,  I  say." 

Billy  turned  and  went  down  the  stairs.  Her  nerves 
were  so  alive  that  she  felt  that  she  could  not  bear 
anything.  And  to  be  treated  like  a  criminal  now ! 

She  could  not  eat,  and  as  she  saw  Hildreth  coming 
in  from  the  barn  she  left  the  kitchen. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  scrupulously  began  to  put  the 
dinner  on  the  table.  When  Hildreth  had  reached 
the  stage  of  wiping  his  hands  on  the  great  roller- 
towel  in  preparation  for  the  meal,  he  glanced  at  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  and  directly  asked  the  same  question  of 
her  that  she  had  asked  of  her  daughter — 

"  Has  anything  happened?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  dropped  the  platter  of  boiled 
mutton. 

"  She  can  sing,"  she  answered. 

Hildreth  did  not  try  to  speak.  He  stood  an  in- 
stant, then  he  walked  to  the  door. 

"  Don't  keep  the  dinner  for  me,"  he  said  at  last ; 
"  I  sha'n't  want  any,"  and  he  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  carefully  gathered  the  mutton 
127 


THE   MELOOX    FARM 

from  the  floor,  and  then  she  added  still  more  tea  to 
the  tea-pot,  and  presently  sat  down  to  drink  a  cup  of 
very  strong  brew.  So  the  fact  of  Billy's  being  able 
to  sing  seemed  to  deprive  three  people  of  the  power 
to  eat  their  dinners. 


XVI 

AN  ACCIDENT 

course,  I  shall  go  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong,  the  next  day. 

She  had  entered  her  daughter's  room  just 
after  breakfast. 

"  I  shall  go  with  you  because  you  are  my  child,  and 
I  would  follow  you  into  a  den  of  lions — and  the  soon- 
er the  lions  eat  us  up  the  better,  I  say !" 

The  last  words  were  uttered  shrilly.  Billy  was 
sitting  at  the  window.  She  rose  and  hurried  to  her 
mother.  She  put  her  arms  about  her  neck. 

"  I  must  be  a  singer,  mother." 

"  It's  against  the  Lord's  will." 

"  I  must  be  a  singer,"  with  a  sterner  note  in  her 
voice. 

At  this  the  mother  put  her  head  down  on  the  girl's 
shoulder  and  began  to  sob  and  cry  aloud.  Billy  held 
her  close,  feeling  very  wicked  indeed,  but  not  relent- 
ing in  the  least. 

At  last  the  girl  said: 

"  I'm  not  going  to  talk  about  this  any  more ;  and 
if  you  think  it's  wrong  for  you  to  go  with  me,  don't 
go." 

"Oh,  but  I  must.  If  you're  wicked,  Miny,  I'll  be 
wicked  too.  I  can't  be  separated  from  you — I  can't." 

Whereat  she  kissed  the  girl,  and  wept  harder  than 
before. 

i  129 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

Billy  never  could  recall  very  clearly  the  days  which 
followed  immediately.  She  sang  for  Hildreth  again 
and  again,  many  different  kinds  of  music.  There  was 
no  doubt  but  that  her  voice  had  returned.  She  had 
a  future,  she  told  herself. 

It  being  already  April,  there  seemed  nothing  to  be 
done,  save  the  making  of  preliminary  arrangements, 
until  the  fall.  Hildreth  eagerly  took  upon  himself 
those  arrangements.  He  predicted  success  for  the 
next  opera  season. 

44  It  is  an  age  until  then,"  he  exclaimed.  44  And  I 
shall  sing  with  you  !" 

Here  he  could  not  help  flashing  a  glance  at  Billy, 
who  received  it,  as  one  might  say,  opaquely,  giving 
no  response  whatever. 

One  day,  after  many  consultations  with  Hildreth, 
Billy  stood  watching  for  Meloon's  return  from  the 
village.  She  intended  to  ask  him  if  he  would  con- 
tinue to  hire  her  until  the  early  fall.  She  wished  to 
stay  there ;  she  could  think  of  no  other  place  where 
she  would  like  so  well  to  stay. 

44  And  I  will  remind  him  of  my  skill  in  butter- 
making,"  she  thought. 

She  was  in  high  spirits.  The  April  of  this  year 
had  been  like  May;  the  earth  was  already  awakened 
for  the  summer,  or  so  it  seemed  to  the  girl. 

She  left  the  steps  of  the  door,  and  walked  down  the 
yard.  It  was  just  sunset,  and  the  level  and  brilliant 
light  lay  upon  the  house,  the  farm-buildings,  and  the 
orchard.  She  could  not  hear  a  sound  save  the  ring- 
ing of  the  milk  into  the  empty  pail  from  the  barn- 
yard where  Hildreth  had  just  begun  to  milk.  Rob- 
ins and  blue-birds  were  flying  about,  their  little  forms 
outlined  clearly  against  the  glow  as  they  swept  here 
and  there. 


AN   ACCIDENT 

Billy  wore  a  shawl,  but  it  was  half  falling  from  her 
shoulders. 

"  Miny,  where  are  you  going  ?"  called  her  mother 
from  the  house. 

Hildreth  heard,  and  paused  in  his  milking.  He 
was  continually  telling  himself  that  he  wouldn't 
stand  the  happy  wretchedness  of  his  being  thus  with 
Billy.  A  score  of  times  he  had  been  on  the  point  of 
throwing  up  the  whole  thing  and  going  away  ;  or  he 
would  have  declared  that  he  had  been  on  the  point 
of  doing  this,  but  at  the  same  time  he  knew  that  he 
would  on  no  account  have  gone.  He  had  believed 
that  when  Billy  could  sing,  things  would  somehow 
be  different ;  if  they  were  different  now  it  was  only 
that  everything  about  the  girl  seemed  more  elusive- 
He  did  not  understand. 

He  listened,  and  heard  the  reply : 

"  I'm  going  down  to  meet  Mr.  Meloon." 

Hildreth  began  to  milk  again,  thrusting  out  a  foot 
viciously  as  he  did  so,  and  then  striking  the  cow 
fiercely  for  stepping. 

Billy  walked  slowly.  She  had  not  yet  heard  the 
sound  of  the  horses'  feet  on  the  main  road.  The 
wind  was  the  right  way  for  her  to  hear  the  colts 
plainly  as  they  came  over  the  north  road. 

She  stopped  and  leaned  against  a  young  maple. 
The  sun  dipped  down  below  the  horizon,  and  in  a 
few  moments  more  it  seemed  like  night. 

"  I  will  go  back,"  she  thought.  "  Perhaps  the 
dampness  will  affect  my  throat." 

But  she  did  not  go  back ;  she  went  on  a  few 
steps,  then  stood  still.  A  waft  of  wind  now  brought 
to  her  the  sound  of  the  quick  moving  of  horses' 
feet. 

"  There  are  the  colts !"    she  exclaimed.     "  They 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

have  only  just   turned  on   to  the   north   road,  but 
across  the  pastures  it  is  not  so  far." 

The  sound  came  still  plainer,  and  then  stopped. 
She  heard  two  shots  fired.  Meloon  often  took  his  rifle. 

It  was  dark  now.  She  wondered  why  the  sound 
had  stopped  so  suddenly.  She  had  heard  teams 
coming  so  many  times  over  there,  with  the  wind  this 
way,  and  ordinarily  the  noise  of  their  coming  grew 
louder  and  louder  until  they  had  gone  down  the 
Ledge  Hill ;  then  the  thick  intervening  woods  shut 
off  the  sound  for  a  long  time. 

Billy  began  to  be  afraid,  and  then  to  smile  at  her- 
self for  being  afraid. 

"The  colts  must  have  begun  to  go  down  the  hill 
when  I  heard  them  so  plainly,"  she  thought ;  "and  it 
was  the  colts,  I  never  mistake  their  gait." 

She  walked  back  and  forth  across  the  path  a  few 
times,  pausing  often  to  listen.  How  still  the  night 
was;  only  the  frogs  in  the  low  places  kept  up  an  un- 
ceasing din.  She  wished  they  would  stop. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  in  this  way ;  then 
Billy  hurried  with  a  decisive  movement  towards  the 
house ;  when  she  entered  the  kitchen,  however,  where 
her  mother  was  mixing  dough  for  bread,  she  had  no 
appearance  of  hurry. 

"  Is  Mr.  Hildreth  at  the  barn  now  ?"  she  asked. 

"No;  he's  gone  up  to  the  sheep  pasture.  I  told 
him  he  missed  it;  he  had  to  take  a  lantern;  but 
he  forgot  to  do  something  by  daylight ;  he's  gittin' 
kind  of  forgetful." 

Billy  left  the  room.  She  went  to  the  wood-house 
and  took  another  lantern  that  hung  there;  she  start- 
ed for  the  barn,  but  went  back  to  say  that  she  was 
going  to  ride  down  the  lane ;  and  she  hurried  away 
before  any  questions  could  be  asked. 

132 


AN  ACCIDENT 

In  five  minutes  she  had  saddled  the  horse  which 
she  had  begun  to  use  a  month  ago.  As  she  rode 
from  the  yard  she  said  again  that  she  didn't  see  why 
she  was  frightened.  She  made  the  horse  stand  still 
that  she  might  listen.  Nothing  could  be  heard  but 
the  frogs,  and  they  were  vociferating  in  jubilation 
that  spring  had  come.  The  girl  moved  uneasily  in 
her  saddle.  By  this  time  the  colts  ought  to  be  in 
the  lane ;  she  ought  to  be  able  to  hear  them  plainly. 

She  went  on,  suddenly  possessed  by  a  sense  of 
hurry  that  drove  her  as  if  with  a  whip. 

At  the  end  of  the  lane  was  a  heavy  gate,  always 
kept  closed  and  hooked.  Here  she  was  obliged  to 
dismount ;  the  gate  stuck,  and  then  it  gave  suddenly, 
and  she  almost  fell.  She  scrambled  someway  back 
to  her  saddle  from  the  fence,  leaving  the  gate  open. 
She  was  now  at  the  top  of  a  long  hill,  and  her  horse 
must  walk  nearly  all  the  way  down.  She  sat  far 
back  in  her  seat,  clutching  the  bridle  nervously  in 
cold  fingers. 

How  Meloon  would  laugh  at  her  when  he  saw  him ! 
— but  she  would  not  let  him  know ;  she  would  pretend 
that  she  was  riding  out  to  enjoy  the  mild  evening. 

That  was  Trooper  barking  far  away ;  as  far  away 
as  Ledge  Hill,  she  thought.  She  held  up  her  horse 
an  instant  that  she  might  listen  more  closely.  If 
Meloon  were  at  Ledge  Hill  and  should  shout,  she 
might  hear  him.  But  he  did  not  shout.  Then  she 
fancied  there  was  a  distressful  and  pleading  accent 
in  the  dog's  voice.  She  urged  her  horse  on  again, 
until  he  galloped  down  the  last  pitch  in  the  road  be- 
fore her,  then  stretched  himself  out  along  the  level 
that  followed.  Lotos  was  racing  on  behind;  even 
in  the  midst  of  the  clatter  of  her  horse's  hoofs  she 
heard  the  dog  panting,  and  the  occasional  scratching 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

of  his  feet  in  the  gravel,  and  the  sounds  comforted 
her. 

The  level  space  was  short,  and  she  must  ascend 
another  hill  ;  the  country  was  nothing  but  hills  and 
valleys.  She  had  begun  this  ascent  when  there  \vas 
a  great  clatter  and  skurry  ahead  of  her  ;  then  imme- 
diately, dimly  seen  in  the  dusk,  a  horse  came  full 
pelt  down  the  highway  ;  something  was  rattling  at 
his  heels.  He  came  and  passed  as  if  he  were  a  ghost, 
a  thing  of  air,  save  for  the  noise  he  made.  Billy's 
horse  jumped  out  of  the  way  and  stood  at  the  road- 
side, snorting  and  quivering  ;  he  refused  to  go  on  ; 
more  than  that,  he  made  a  bolt  towards  home,  with 
his  head  down  and  his  ears  flattened. 

Roused  now  to  a  fury  of  indignation  and  terror, 
the  girl  sawed  away  at  the  horse's  mouth  with  all 
her  strength,  and  her  strength  was  considerable. 
But  not  until  the  animal  was  nearly  at  the  brow  of 
the  long  hill,  whose  top  was  at  the  gate,  did  she 
make  any  impression  upon  him.  Then  he  stopped 
still,  so  unexpectedly  that  his  rider  barely  escaped 
being  flung  over  his  head  ;  but  she  stuck  to  the  sad- 
dle. In  the  next  moment  she  had  satisfied  herself 
that  she  could  not  force  him  to  turn  about.  He 
stood  quivering  from  his  run  up  the  hill,  his  feet 
obstinately  planted. 

So  Billy  slipped  down  to  the  ground  and  let  the 
animal  go,  not  thinking  until  too  late  what  a  fright  he 
would  give  those  people  left  at  the  farm-house.  Too 
late  she  wished  she  had  tied  him  to  the  fence.  Long  be- 
fore this  the  horse  she  had  met  must  have  reached  its 
house.  Somebody — Hildreth,  of  course — would  come. 

Meantime  she  could  not  stand  still  and  wait.  In- 
stead of  going  towards  the  farm,  she  turned  and  ran 
down  the  hill. 

134 


XVII 
BY  THE  ROAD-SIDE 

AS  she  ran,  Billy  felt  certain  that  Hildreth  would 
presently  overtake  her  ;  but  the  moments  went 
by,  and  no  one  did  overtake  her.      Her  feet 
were  like  lead  and  her  heart  beat  chokingly.     But 
she  kept  on  running,  up  hill  and  down,  save  once  in 
a  while  for  an  instant's  pause.     At  last,  in  one  of 
these  pauses,  some  one  called  out : 

"  Hullo  !" 

Billy  stopped  short  and  tried  to  see  as  well  as  hear  ; 
but  the  night  had  thickened  with  clouds. 

"Hullo  !"  she  cried,  in  return. 

"  I  hope  it's  a  good  Samaritan,"  said  the  voice;  and 
now  Billy  was  sure  that  it  was  Meloon  who  spoke  ; 
and  he  couldn't  be  very  badly  off  to  use  such  a 
phrase.  She  remained  motionless  as  she  had  stopped. 
Then  she  said  : 

"  Yes,  I'm  a  Samaritan." 

"  That's  lucky.     I  wonder  where  the  other  colt  is." 

"  Gone  home.     Where  are  you?" 

"  Pitched  into  a  hollow  here.     It's  Billy,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes — where  are  you?" 

"  I  told  you — in  this  hollow.  I'm  not  sure  but  that 
there  are  a  bear  and  a  horse  on  top  of  me — no  more, 
I  hope.  So  it's  Billy?" 

"Yes,  yes.     Do  yqtj  think  I  can  help  you?" 
?35 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"Of  course;  it  would  be  a  mere  trifle  for  you  to 
lift  a  bear  and  a  horse  off  me,  wouldn't  it?" 

The  girl  wondered  at  the  gayety  in  his  voice. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  ought  not  to  have  come 
alone !  Now  I  can't  help  you." 

Meloon  spoke  something  indistinctly,  then  plainly  : 

"  I  always  felt  sure  you  had  a  kind  heart." 

To  this  remark  Billy  made  no  response.  She  had 
slowly  followed  the  guidance  of  his  voice,  and  was 
now  in  one  of  those  gullies  which  the  rains  make  by 
the  sides  of  these  mountain  roads.  She  stumbled. 

"  Here." 

His  hand  was  extended  and  she  took  it,  feeling 
hopeful  as  its  fingers  clasped  firmly  about  hers. 

"Thank  you  ;  it's  a  good  hand,"  he  said. 

Silence,  during  which  Billy  tried  to  make  out  what 
was  that  bulk  lying  blackly  before  her ;  but  the  night 
was  very  dark. 

"  If  you  could  get  to  my  waistcoat  you  might  find 
a  match,"  said  Meloon ;  but  he  did  not  relinquish  her 
hand. 

"  I  can't  take  a  bear  and  a  horse  off  you,  even  if  I 
had  a  light,"  responded  Billy,  following  his  lead. 

"  True ;  and  you  would  need  your  hand ;  it's  a 
good  hand." 

"  Oh,  if  somebody  would  only  come!" 

She  could  not  restrain  this  cry. 

"  Don't  worry  about  that,  since  you  have  come." 

Silence  again. 

"Can't  I  do  anything,  Mr.  Meloon?" 

"  Not  more  than  you're  doing  now." 

"  But  that  is  nothing." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  nothing  to  me." 

"  Where  are  you  hurt?" 

"  Really,  I  can't  tell  you.  At  first  I  thought  my 
136 


BY  THE   ROAD-SIDE 

back  and  legs  were  broken.  But  now  I  conclude  that 
I  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

Billy  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  gully  that  she 
might  be  nearer  her  companion. 

"  Is  it  very  inconvenient  for  you  to  hold  my  hand?" 
he  asked. 

"No." 

"  Yes,  I  always  did  believe  that  you  had  a  kind 
heart,  in  spite  of — " 

"  In  spite  of  what?"  as  he  paused. 

"Your  ambition." 

"Am  I  ambitious?"  wonderingly. 

Meloon  laughed. 

"Was  Caesar  ambitious?  And  certainly  there  is 
no  such  hardener  of  the  heart  as  ambition.  But  you 
are  surely  a  kind  little  girl.  Where's  Hildreth?" 
suddenly,  and  with  a  curious  sharpening  of  tone. 

"  He  had  gone  up  into  the  sheep  pasture." 

"Oh,  well,  if  he's  prowling  about  in  the  sheep 
pasture  with  a  lantern,  he  won't  be  here  for  a  long 
time." 

To  Billy's  unspeakable  wonder  there  seemed  some- 
thing like  gratitude  in  Meloon's  way  of  speaking 
these  words. 

"Perhaps  some  one  may  be  driving  along  this 
road,"  she  suggested. 

"  Perhaps  ;  in  that  case  it  will  be  our  duty  to  hail 
him." 

"  Hail  him  ?  I  would  shout  after  him  ;  I  would 
run  and  drag  him  here." 

"  Would  you  ?  It  strikes  me  that  you  are  very 
anxious  to  terminate  this  interview." 

"  Mr.  Meloon,  you  puzzle  me.  Are  you  suffering 
much  ?" 

This  manner  of  conversation  at  such  a  time  so 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

confused  the  girl  that  she  hardly  knew  what  to  say; 
and  the  darkness  bewildered  her  still  more. 

"  I'm  not  suffering  at  all  just  now,  except  from 
constraint.  I  must  be  seriously  damaged  in  some 
way.  It  was  not  enough  that  I  should  be  old  enough 
to  be  your  father,  Miss  Armstrong,  but  I  must  be 
'mulcted  for  a  man.'  Well,  I  do  have  the  luck !" 

Billy  heard  him,  for  she  replied  after  a  fashion,  but 
it  was  quite  evident  that  she  did  not  understand, 
evident  also  that  Meloon  did  not  wish  her  to  under- 
stand, for  he  added,  hurriedly : 

"  I  believe  I'm  talking  nonsense.  This  is  almost 
as  good  as  an  opera  scene,  isn't  it  ?  Do  you  think 
the  chorus  will  be  coming  in  soon  ?" 

All  this  time  he  had  been  holding  Billy's  hand. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like 
that !" 

44  How,  then  ?    Moan  and  cry  ?" 

"  Yes ;  shriek,  do  anything.  You  frighten  me 
with  your  good  spirits.  I  have  just  conceived  a  hor- 
rible idea  that  nothing  is  alive  but  your  head — 
you're  dead  from  your  head  down." 

"  But  I'm  holding  your  hand." 

"  So  you  are  !     Thank  Heaven  for  that !" 

Then  Billy  sobbed  shortly  a  few  times,  but  direct- 
ly pulled  herself  up  and  remained  very  quiet.  Once 
she  leaned  down  and  pressed  her  cheek  to  the  hand 
that  grasped  her  hand.  She  sobbed  again,  and 
Meloon  whispered,  4<  Hush  !  Hush  !" 

Then  neither  spoke  for  a  long  time  ;  perhaps  they 
were  listening  to  the  night  sounds,  the  flutter  of  tree 
branches  in  the  mysterious  wind  ;  the  faint  noises 
in  the  wood,  as  if  fairies  were  stepping  about. 

44  Don't  you  think  I  ought  to  run  home  and  find 
Mr.  Hildreth  ?"  at  length  from  Billy. 

'38 


BY   THE    ROAD-SIDE 

"  No  ;  the  chances  are  that  you'd  meet  him.  And 
as  it's  four  miles  the  other  way  to  a  house,  the  only 
course  left  for  you  is  to  stay  here  and  keep  the 
wolves  from  me." 

Having  spoken  thus,  Meloon  asked,  quickly  : 

"  How  came  you  to  notice  that  I  wasn't  at  home?" 

"  As  if  a  person  wouldn't  know  when  the  master 
of  the  house  was  away  !"  unconsciously  she  contin- 
ued in  his  tone. 

"  But  tell  me,"  he  insisted. 

"  I  was  out  in  the  yard  walking  about,  and  I  heard 
the  colts  when  they  began  to  go  down  this  hill.  And 
then  I  heard  two  shots." 

"  How  came  you  in  the  yard  ?  Why  weren't  you 
baking,  or  sweeping,  or  washing?  I  pay  you  wages, 
Miss  Armstrong ;  I  shall  see  to  it  that  you  earn 
them.  How  came  you  in  the  yard?" 

"I  was  expecting  you  ;  I  was  waiting  for  you." 

"Ah!" 

"Somehow  I  felt  worried." 

Meloon  did  not  speak  this  time ;  his  fingers  closed 
still  more  firmly  about  Billy's  hand. 

In  another  moment  they  both  heard  the  sound  of 
a  horse  approaching  at  a  gallop.  Trooper,  who  had 
been  lying  pressed  close  against  his  master  since  the 
girl  had  come,  rose  quickly,  growling  provisionally. 

"Hildreth  to  the  rescue," said  Meloon,  "but  I  sup- 
pose a  man  can't  have  everything  precisely  as  he 
wants  it." 

He  laughed;  but  he  subdued  the  laugh  quickly  and 
added :  "  I  had  been  hoping  to  be  one  to  clap  my  hands 
and  swing  my  kerchief  when  you  sing  to  them  next 
fall.  I  wanted  to  see  the  crowds  rise  at  you,  and  then 
to  say  to  somebody,  'That's  the  girl  who  made  the 
butter  on  my  farm  last  summer — and  she  made  good 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

butter,  too.'  But,  as  I  said,  a  man  can't  have  every- 
thing just  as  he  wants  it.  There's  Hildreth — he's 
running  the  horse  up  hill — he  came  with  the  cart — 
that's  bright  of  him.  But  why  is  he  shouting  your 
name,  I  should  like  to  know?" 

"  Miss  Armstrong  !     Miss  Armstrong!" 

The  cry  was  prolonged  and  imperative  with  anx- 
iety. 

"He  needn't  call  you,"  said  Mcloon. 

"  I  started  on  horseback — "  began  Billy,  hurriedly, 
but  she  was  interrupted  by  Meloon's  demanding, 
swiftly : 

"Were  you  thrown  ?" 

"  No — but  the  horse  was  frightened  when  the  colt 
came  dashing  down,  and  he  wouldn't  come  on ;  he 
went  back." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  your  mother  ;  I'm  sorry — " 

But  he  did  not  finish  his  sentence. 

The  cry  came  again  ;  Billy  stood  up  and  answered 
it  by  a  long,  clear  call. 

There  was  no  response,  but  in  a  moment  she  saw 
the  yellow  gleam  of  a  lantern  as  the  sound  of  wheels 
and  hoofs  came  yet  nearer.  She  saw  Hildreth  stand- 
ing and  driving.  The  lantern  was  fastened  below 
the  cart,  and  its  light  was  cast  all  about.  Close  be- 
hind Hildreth,  sitting  on  the  bottom  of  the  light 
cart,  and  holding  to  the  sides,  the  girl  saw  dimly  her 
mother,  whose  pale  face  and  wild  eyes  seemed  almost 
to  cast  a  light  of  themselves.  As  she  looked,  her 
mother  rose  and  leaned  forward. 

"Miny,  are  you  there?" 

Billy  had  come  forward  directly. 

"Are  you  hurt,  Miny?" 

For  answer  the  girl  reached  forward  both  arms 
and  almost  lifted  her  mother  to  the  ground. 

140 


"THEY  SAW  MELOON'S  FACE,  WHITE,  WITH  KRIGHT  EVES" 


BY  THE   ROAD-SIDE 

"  Mr.  Meloon  is  hurt,"  she  said. 

But  Mrs.  Armstrong  could  not  speak  at  first.  She 
stood  and  clung  to  her  daughter  with  the  selfishness 
of  anxiety  ;  she  had  heard  Billy  say  that  Mr.  Meloon 
was  hurt,  but  she  did  not  care  so  long  as  her  child 
was  safe. 

Hildreth  had  jumped  out  of  the  cart  and  stood 
staring  at  Billy. 

In  the  first  moment  of  relief  he  could  not  hold 
himself  steady ;  he  was  afraid  to  speak  lest  his  voice 
should  tremble. 

Suddenly  he  stepped  forward  and  took  the  girl's 
hand ;  he  kissed  it  ardently  again  and  again. 

"  It's  been  hell  since  your  horse  came  home  with 
the  empty  saddle,"  he  said,  thickly. 

Billy  shrank  away. 

"I'm  safe,"  she  returned.  "Let  us  help  Mr.  Me- 
loon." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  eagerly,  from  Hildreth. 

He  hurriedly  unfastened  the  lantern  and  brought 
it ;  Billy  snatched  it  from  him  and  went  forward  to 
the  gully  by  the  road-side.  Immediately  they  saw 
Meloon's  face,  white,  with  bright  eyes,  lying  on  a 
tuft  of  the  withered  brake  of  the  summer  before. 
He  raised  his  head,  watching  the  girl.  One  of  the  colts 
lay  close  by  him — indeed,  part  of  its  body  was  lying 
across  Meloon's  legs,  and  close  to  the  other  side  was 
the  black  bulk  of  a  bear.  The  bear  was  quite  evident- 
ly dead,  but  the  horse  turned  its  eyes  towards  the 
new-comers. 

"Almost  romantic,  isn't  it?"  asked  Meloon.  "It 
was  the  bear  that  frightened  the  colts  out  of  their 
senses.  Don't  look  so  scared,  Serissa ;  bears  do 
come  down  from  the  mountains  sometimes,  and  they 
sometimes  get  shot.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  if  it's 

141 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

ever  necessary.  I  thought  the  other  colt  would 
never  get  free  of  the  carriage ;  he  fought  like  mad  to 
get  away ;  I  suppose  he  smashed  the  carriage  some- 
where. I  managed  to  cut  the  harness  for  this  poor 
fellow.  Poor  fellow  !"  he  reached  his  hand  out  and 
touched  the  horse.  "  It's  a  cursed  piece  of  business 
anyway.  Now  see  if  you  can  take  home  this  carcass 
of  mine — it  might  as  well  be  a  carcass." 

Billy  fancied  that  Meloon's  voice  was  weaker, 
though  he  kept  up  his  appearance  of  strength,  and 
what  she  called  reckless  cheerfulness. 

The  two  women  worked  with  Hildreth,  and  they 
had  need  to  do  so.  Meloon  did  not  betray  in  the 
least  that  it  hurt  him  to  be  extricated  from  his  posi- 
tion— and  extricated  so  awkwardly.  He  coolly  gave 
directions  when  they  were  needed.  When  at  last  he 
was  placed  on  the  floor  of  the  cart,  he  became  so 
strangely  still  that  Billy  held  the  lantern  near  him. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  he  has  fainted." 

And  so  he  had. 


XVIII 
BROUGHT   HOME 

THEY  got  him  home  ;  how  they  did  it  Billy  never 
quite  knew.    She  did  not  go  with  them. 
The  doctor  lived  four  miles  away. 

"The  cart  is  light,"  she  said  to  Vane.  "Think 
how  much  time  will  be  wasted  in  getting  to  the  vil- 
lage." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  the  young  man. 

He  was  stooping  to  get  the  reins,  which  had  fallen 
to  the  ground,  while  one  strap  was  round  a  hind  leg 
of  the  horse. 

"  I  mean  that,  perhaps,  you  can  drag  the  cart  home 
— it's  not  so  very  far,  and  mother  will  push  behind, 
if  necessary." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  not  knowing  in 
the  least  at  what  Miny  was  driving ;  "  I  will  do  any- 
thing. Oh,  Miny,  do  you  think  he  will  die?" 

"  No  ;  he  isn't  going  to  die,"  fiercely.  "  Will  you, 
Vane  ?" 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  I  shall  take  the  horse  and  ride  him  to  the  village. 
I  shall  bring  back  the  doctor." 

"'But  there  is  no  saddle." 

Billy  stamped  her  foot. 

"And  no  embroidered  saddle-cloth !"  she  cried. 
"  When  I  was  a  child  I  didn't  need  a  saddle.  I  can 
go  now  without  one.  Will  you.  help,  Vane?" 

143 


THE   MELOON    FA  KM 

She  was  hurriedly  unfastening  buckles  while  her 
mother  held  the  lantern. 

"I  think  I'm  willing  to  help," said  Hildreth,  with 
some  appearance  of  sulkiness.  But  he  took  hold 
effectively.  It  was  hardly  a  moment  before  the  horse 
was  led  from  the  shafts  and  stood  with  nothing  on 
save  his  bridle. 

Billy  was  going  to  spring  up  from  the  wheel,  but 
Hildreth  hastened  to  her.  He  extended  his  hand 
and  tossed  her  on  to  the  horse's  back.  She  sat  the 
animal  astride,  as  she  had  ridden  her  father's  horses 
over  the  pastures  many  a  time  in  the  old  days. 

"Oh,  Billy,"  cried  Hildreth,  in  a  terror,  "I  shall 
take  you  down.  You  will  fall." 

"  No,  you  sha'n't  take  me  down,  and  I  sha'n't  fall." 

She  struck  the  horse  with  her  heels  and  he  sprang 
forward.  In  an  instant  she  had  gone  into  the  dark- 
ness, and  they  heard  the  sharp,  quick  sound  of  the 
iron-shod  feet,  heard  it  for  a  moment  before  it  be- 
came indistinct,  as  she  turned  the  corner  that  led 
behind  a  shoulder  of  the  hill. 

Hildreth  did  not  speak,  save  to  ask  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong if  she  would  hold  the  lantern  while  he  turned 
the  cart. 

The  road  was  narrow  and  at  a  steep  pitch,  and  it 
was  hard  work,  but  he  accomplished  it. 

Trooper  was  already  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart 
beside  his  master.  He  was  whining  desolately,  and 
sometimes  licking  Meloon's  face. 

"  It's  down-hill,"  said  Hildreth  to  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
when  he  had  put  a  stone  in  front  of  each  forward 
wheel.  "  I  shall  have  all  I  can  do  not  to  tumble  over 
myself  when  I  get  started.  I  want  you  to  get  into 
the  cart  and  stay  there  for  the  present.  Don't  be 
frightened ;  I  shall  try  to  keep  my  feet." 

144 


BROUGHT    HOME 

"  I  shall  not  be  frightened,"  was  the  answer. 

She  got  into  the  cart ;  she  sat  down  on  the  floor 
and  took  Meloon's  head  in  her  lap.  On  the  other 
side  was  Trooper. 

Hildreth  put  himself  in  the  shafts,  and  then  dex- 
terously kicked  the  stones  from  the  wheels.  He 
started  cautiously  enough,  but  as  the  cart  rolled 
after  him  it  was  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  keep  his 
footing.  Before  he  had  gone  six  rods  he  heard  the 
shrill,  remonstrant  whinny  of  the  colt  left  there 
alone.  The  sound  made  him  involuntarily  waver, 
and  the  vehicle  tried  to  rush  upon  him.  He,  also,  had 
grown  strong  and  muscular  during  his  stay  at  the 
farm.  He  braced  back  doggedly. 

"  She  thought  I  could  do  it,"  he  whispered,  as  the 
sweat  started  out  on  his  face.  And  the  next  mo- 
ment that  horse  up  there  whinnied  again. 

"  Can't  we  do  anything  for  the  colt  ?"  called  out 
Mrs.  Armstrong. 

Hildreth  made  no  attempt  at  a  reply ;  he  was 
cursing  silently  and  wondering  how  some  women 
could  be  so  inconsequent. 

It  was  of  no  use ;  he  couldn't  do  it,  and  he  had 
been  a  fool  to  try.  The  cart  would  push  him  out  of 
the  way  and  go  on  at  its  own  will  to  destruction. 

He  struggled  not  to  run,  but  in  spite  of  himself 
he  had  to  break  into  a  little  trot,  pushing  back  with 
all  his  might.  The  sweat  now  dropped  from  his  face. 

"  If  I  don't  come  to  one  of  those  'holdbacks'  with- 
in a  minute,  we'll  all  go  to  the  devil  together." 

This  was  what  he  was  thinking.  He  set  his  teeth 
as  his  thought  added,  "  And  a  good  thing,  too ;  the 
sooner  the  better." 

But  he  did  come  to  a  short  level  space,  and  then 
the  hummock  made  for  carriages  to  rest  upon  on 
K  145 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

their  way  down.  As  the  wheels  stopped  Hildreth 
sat  down  on  the  shaft.  He  felt  as  if  his  lungs  were 
so  swollen  that  he  could  not  breathe ;  but  he  must 
breathe  so  that  he  could  get  his  charges  to  the 
house;  then  it  made  little  difference  to  him  whether 
he  kept  on  breathing  or  not. 

"  I'd  have  taken  them  down  a  ten-mile  hill,  all  the 
same,  if  she  had  said  so." 

He  drew  his  arm  across  his  wet  face. 

"  I'm  in  hopes  he's  coming  to,"  said  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, in  the  cart. 

Hildreth  made  no  reply. 

He  rose  and  started  again,  bracing  until  the  mus- 
cles of  his  back  and  legs  seemed  to  crack  with  the 
strain. 

And  he  succeeded,  for  luckily  he  had  passed  over 
the  worst  part  of  the  hill. 

"What  if  I  should  stumble,"  as  he  let  himself  race 
down  the  last  more  gentle  slope  so  that  the  impetus 
might  carry  him  a  short  distance  up  the  next  hill 
that  he  must  climb  before  he  came  to  the  gate  to 
the  Meloon  farm. 

When  his  breath  and  strength  threatened  to  give 
out  he  drew  the  cart  half  across  the  road,  and  was 
fortunate  enough  to  find  a  stone  and  thrust  it  under 
a  wheel. 

"  You'll  have  to  push,  I'm  afraid,  Mrs.  Armstrong," 
he  said,  huskily. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  was  the  answer.  She  scrambled  out 
at  the  end  of  the  cart. 

But  before  they  started  a  voice  from  the  floor  of 
the  cart  called  out,  faintly: 

"  Who's  pulling  this  thing  ?" 

"  I  told  you  he  was  coming  to,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  from  the  rear. 

146 


BROUGHT   HOME 

"  I  say,  who's  pulling  this  thing  ?" 

Hildreth  rose. 

"  It's  all  right,  Mr.  Meloon,"  he  answered,  "  you're 
perfectly  safe." 

"  I  didn't  ask  if  I  was  safe.  I'm  not  the  most  pre- 
cious thing  in  the  world." 

Here  a  cough  interrupted  any  further  words. 

Hildreth  leaned  against  the  side.  The  lantern 
had  been  fastened  beneath  again,  where  it  threw 
light  upon  the  road  ;  therefore,  the  two  men  could 
not  see  each  other. 

"I'm  taking  you  home."  Hildreth  felt  that  he 
would  be  obliged  to  reply. 

"  You  !     Great  heaven  !     Stop  it,  then." 

No  response.  Hildreth  took  his  place  and  lifted 
the  shafts  again. 

"  I  forbid  you  to  do  it." 

Hildreth  had  forgotten  the  blockading-stone.  He 
stepped  back  and  removed  it.  Then  he  began  to 
pull  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  to  push. 

"  If  you  will  do  it,"  said  Meloon,  "  here's  Troop- 
er, who  weighs  a  hundred  and  thirty  pounds.  Make 
him  get  out.  Go,  Trooper  ;  I'm  all  right ;  jump  out, 
old  fellow.  I  can't  talk  any  more." 

He  choked  and  was  silent.  The  dog  jumped  to 
the  ground  as  the  cart  was  making  its  slow  way  ;  he 
placed  himself  in  the  rear,  and  with  his  nose  at  the 
tail-board  followed  his  master. 

Meloon  said  nothing  when  they  reached  the  house. 
He  tried  to  help  get  himself  into  the  sitting-room, 
and  he  did  help,  though  it  was  hard. 

At  last  he  dropped  onto  the  lounge,  and  Hildreth 
thrust  pillows  under  his  head. 

"  Where's  Billy  ?"  asked  Meloon. 

"  She  rode  the  horse  to  the  village." 
H7 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

Meloon's  eyes  were  closed,  but  Hildrcth  saw  the 
great  mustache  curve  upward  in  a  smile. 

"  Plucky  little  girl!"  he  murmured. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  ran  hither  and  yon  for  hot  water, 
and  flannel,  and  brandy ;  but  Meloon  stopped  her. 

"  Don't  do  a  thing  till  the  doctor  comes,"  he 
said. 

He  lay  there,  still  with  his  eyes  shut.  The  big  St. 
Bernard  had  placed  himself  by  the  couch,  and  his 
black  muzzle  was  resting  close  to  his  master's  shoul- 
der. Sometimes  he  put  his  tongue  gently  on  the 
cheek  near  him. 

"Good  fellow,"  whispered  Meloon.  "We've  been 
through  a  good  many  things,  but  this  is  the  worst, 
eh?" 

Meloon  seemed  to  have  a  great  desire  to  talk,  as  is 
often  the  case  when  talking  is  difficult. 

Hildreth,  his  face  purple,  and  his  lungs  still  ach- 
ing, stood  by  for  a  few  moments  until  he  saw  there 
was  nothing  to  do. 

Then  he  went  out-of-doors  and  hurried  towards 
the  road,  as  if  by  so  doing  he  could  hasten  the  doc- 
tor's arrival.  He  walked  restlessly  about,  and  before 
he  had  thought  it  possible  he  heard  the  sound  of 
hoofs  and  wheels  coming  like  mad  down  Ledge  Hill. 
Then  at  last  the  doctor's  sulky  flew  by  him,  followed 
by  another  shape — the  horse  Billy  had  ridden,  gal- 
loping by  himself  behind  the  sulky. 

Hildreth  turned  and  ran  after  them ;  he  came  up 
as  the  doctor  jumped  to  the  ground ;  he  was  in  time 
to  lift  Billy  down,  for  the  doctor  had  insisted  that 
she  crowd  into  the  little  carriage  with  him.  She  did 
not  notice  Hildreth  any  more  than  if  he  had  been  a 
machine. 

The  young  man  caught  her  sleeve. 
148 


BROUGHT   HOME 

"  I  think  the  old  gentleman  will  pull  through,"  he 
said. 

She  turned  in  a  fury  on  him. 

"What!"  she  cried. 

He  retreated  a  step ;  he  could  have  raised  his  arm 
as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow.  He  stared  in  amazement. 
Wasn't  that  good  news,  then? 

"  I  think  he's  sure  to  pull  through,"  he  repeated. 

"  Oh !"  she  breathed.     She  ran  past  him. 

She  stood  a  moment  at  the  door  of  the  sitting- 
room  ;  her  mother  and  the  doctor  were  in  there. 

As  she  turned,  a  hurried  step  sounded,  and  the 
door  was  opened  a  bit.  The  doctor's  gray  head  was 
thrust  out. 

"Oh,  you?  I  thought  'twas  the  young  fellow. 
Send  him  in  here." 

Billy  obeyed ;  then  she  went  on  up  to  her  own 
room.  She  sat  down  by  the  window  and  was  per- 
fectly quiet  until  she  began  to  shiver.  She  rose  and 
brought  a  shawl,  which  she  wrapped  about  her,  re- 
suming her  place.  Lotos  scratched  at  the  door ;  she 
rose  again  and  let  him  in.  This  time  she  sat  down 
on  the  floor  and  held  the  dog's  head  and  shoulders 
in  her  lap.  She  spoke  only  once,  and  then  it  was  to 
say : 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  can't  talk,  Lotos." 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  some  one  came  up 
the  stairs.  This  was  Mrs.  Armstrong;  she  came  in 
carrying  a  small,  lighted  kerosene  lamp ;  but  though 
she  had  this  lamp  she  stumbled  against  her  daughter, 
who  drew  herself  back,  but  not  far  enough. 

The  elder  woman  caught  at  a  chair,  her  lamp  tilt- 
ing so  that  the  flame  splintered  the  glass  chimney, 
which  fell  to  the  floor ;  the  blaze  flickered  out  and 
left  a  rank  odor  of  kerosene  in  the  room.  Mrs. 

149 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

Armstrong  sat  down  without  trying  to  rekindle  the 
lamp. 

Perhaps  she  was  waiting  for  her  companion  to 
speak,  but  Billy  kept  silent. 

"  Well,"  said  the  elder  woman  at  last,  "  I  should 
think  you  might  be  interested  enough  to  ask  a  ques- 
tion. But  you  don't  care  for  anything  but  singing." 

"What  does  the  doctor  say?"  now  inquired  Billy. 

"  He  says  there's  a  good  chance." 

No  response. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  I  said?" 

"  Yes  ;  you  told  me  there  was  a  good  chance." 

Billy  groped  to  the  window  and  sat  down  in  the 
chair  standing  there. 

"  I  think  he's  been  very  kind  to  us." 

In  saying  this  Mrs.  Armstrong's  voice  broke,  and 
she  began  to  sob  unrestrainedly. 

"  Miny,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  I  didn't  use  to  think  you  were  so  hard-hearted." 

11  Didn't  you  ?" 

"  No;  I  don't  seem  to  know  much  about  you  now- 
adays. I  s'pose  you'd  cry  hard  enough  if  that  dog 
of  yours  was  hurt,  wouldn't  you?" 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Billy,  speaking  with  extreme  de- 
liberation, "  that  I  don't  cry,  since  you  seem  to  want 
me  to  cry." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  had  by  this  time  succeeded  in 
drawing  her  handkerchief  from  somewhere  in  her 
clothing. 

"  I  s'pose  it's  natural  for  me  to  feel  it  more  'n  you," 
she  remarked.  "  You  know  I  told  you  he  used  to 
pay  attention  to  me.  You  remember  I  told  you 
that?" 

"  I  remember." 

150 


BROUGHT   HOME 

"  I've  been  sure  for  some  weeks  back  that  he  was 
thinkin'  of  the  same  thing  again.  Men  don't  for- 
git  's  some  folks  seem  to  think  they  do.  I  don't 
know  's  'twould  be  strange  if  he  should  fall  into  old 
habits  again.  You  don't  think  'twould  be  strange, 
do  you,  Miny?" 

Miny  did  not  reply;  and  the  next  moment  she 
began  to  laugh. 


XIX 
MERELY   A  VOICE 

MRS.  ARMSTRONG  rose  from  her  chair.  It 
was  dark  and  she  stumbled,  but  recovered 
herself. 

"  Wilhelminy,"  she  said,  "  you  don't  seem  to  be  my 
child  any  more ;  I  d'  know  what  to  make  of  you." 

The  girl  had  risen  also,  and  she  now  had  her  arms 
about  her  mother's  neck.  She  had  stopped  laughing 
as  suddenly  as  she  began. 

"  Don't  try  to  make  anything  of  me,"  she  respond- 
ed. "  I  didn't  mean  to  laugh  ;  I'm  tired." 

"There  —  there,"  the  mother  fondly  stroked  the 
girl's  head.  "We're  all  tired  'n'  excited.  Twas 
foolish  of  me  to  mention  such  a  thing,  'n*  he  lyin' 
there  as  he  is.  But,  what  if  he  should  get  well-— do 
you  s'pose — do  you  feel  's  if  'twould  be  suitable?  Of 
course  we  ain't  young  folks  any  more;  I'm  three 
years  older 'n  he  is,  any  way.  Should  you  call  it  suit- 
able ?" 

"  Don't  ask  me ;  that  isn't  for  me  to  decide." 

"  But  of  course  I  should  consult  you  ;  of  course  I 
should.  We  needn't  talk  about  it  any  more  now, 
though  ;  'tain't  seemly,  I  know,  and  him  lyin'  there  's 
he  is.  I  must  go  down  now  ;  p'r'aps  there's  some- 
thing for  me  to  do.  The  doctor  said  he  should  stay 
all  night;  and  Mr.  Hildreth  's  goin"  to  lie  on  the 
lounge,  so 's  to  be  ready  if  he's  needed.  We've  got  him 

152 


MERELY  A  VOICE 

into  that  spare  bedroom  that  leads  out  of  the  settin'- 
room ;  we  put  him  there,  for  it  was  no  use  thinkin'  of 
carryin'  him  up-stairs;  and  it  '11  be  real  handy  takin' 
care  of  him  there — no  stairs  to  run  up  'n'  down. 
He's  consid'rable  bad  off?" 

"Is  he?"  • 

"  Yes,  and  mebbe  internal  injuries ;  doctor  couldn't 
tell  for  certain  to-night.  I'll  go  down  now.  I'll  keep 
the  fire  goin'  and  have  things  ready." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  went  down-stairs,  and  presently 
Billy  followed  her. 

Then  began  that  piteous  change  which  illness 
makes  in  a  household.  Everything  seemed  different. 
The  people  crept  about,  shutting  doors  softly  behind 
them,  speaking  in  different  tones.  Hildreth  was  bur- 
dened with  the  care  of  everything  out-of-doors,  and 
planting-time  coming  soon.  Hevhired  the  men  Me- 
loon had  been  accustomed  to  hiring.  The  days  grew 
warmer ;  sometimes  Meloon  asked  to  have  his  win- 
dow left  open  and  his  bed  moved  so  that  he  could 
smell  the  air.  His  gaunt,  white  face  would  lie  still 
for  hours  on  the  pillow  as  he  gazed  out  into  the 
world.  The  birds  seemed  as  if  they  would  break 
their  little  hearts  with  the  sweetness  of  their  own 
melody. 

One  day  Meloon  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"  But  why  isn't  she  singing  ?"  He  slowly  extended 
his  hand  towards  the  bell  which  stood  on  the  table 
near.  In  answer  to  the  summons,  Mrs.  Armstrong 
came  in,  her  sleeves  rolled  up,  her  hands  floury,  her 
gentle  face  full  of  solicitude. 

"Where's  Billy?" 

"  She's  in  the  milk-room,  churning.  Do  you  want 
her?" 

"  Yes." 

'53 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"  But  if  the  butter  's  most  come,  mebbe  it  '11  go 
back." 

44  Let  it  go  back,  then." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  hurried  away,  and  presently  her 
daughter  entered;  her  sleeves  also  were  rolled  up, 
and  there  was  an  air  of  haste  and  preoccupation 
about  her. 

She  came  to  the  side  of  the  bed  and  said  :  "  Good- 
morning,  Mr.  Meloon.  Mother  sent  me  in  here." 

"  I  know.  It's  three  days  since  you  were  here,  and 
I  sent  for  you  then.  What  do  you  mean  by  such 
behavior  ?  Aren't  you  commanded  to  visit  the  sick 
and  the  afflicted?" 

Billy  smiled,  but  she  made  no  attempt  at  an  an- 
swer. Meloon's  eyes  were  on  her  face. 

"  You  look  worn,"  he  remarked,  abruptly. 

44  I'm  perfectly  well  ;  I'm  working  a  good  deal,  but 
that  doesn't  hurt  me  ;  I  love  to  work." 

44  Have  you  stopped  singing — practising,  I  mean  ?" 

44  Oh  no  " — as  if  he  had  asked  if  she  had  stopped 
breathing. 

"  But  I  never  hear  you." 

44 1  go  to  the  nest  barn,  and  I  shut  the  door  that 
opens  this  way  ;  and  if  the  wind  blows  towards  the 
house  I  don't  sing." 

44  Why  do  you  do  all  that  ?" 

44 1  don't  wish  to  disturb  you." 

Meloon  closed  his  eyes  as  if  the  action  might  assist 
him  to  prevent  the  utterance  of  some  forcible  word. 

He  had  now  been  lying  on  this  bed  for  more  than 
a  week.  ^  A  young  man  from  the  village  came  over 
every  day  to  sit  with  him  and  wait  upon  him.  Some- 
times the  young  man  had  a  very  unhappy  time,  and 
felt  that  he  should  choke  to  death  if  he  could  not 
reply  to  the  furious  words  that  were  hurled  at  him. 

'54 


MERELY   A  VOICE 

But  Meloon  was  sure  to  repent  within  the  hour,  and 
then  the  young  man  forgave  him.  These  processes 
of  sin  and  repentance  relieved  the  deadly  tedium 
somewhat. 

"  I  suppose  it's  nearly  time  for  Ruggles  ?"  he 
asked,  suddenly. 

"  In  half  an  hour,"  was  the  reply. 

Meloon  opened  his  eyes  quickly. 

"Oh,  in  half  an  hour  one  may  say  a  great  deal. 
I've  been  thinking,  Billy,  and  after  I've  thought  a 
while  I  always  do  something.  What  I'm  going  to 
do  now  is  to  lend  you  money  enough  to  pay  Miss 
Runciman.  I  know  how  that  debt  eats  into  your 
soul.  It  won't  gall  you  so  much  if  you  owe  me. 
Now,  don't  speak  ;  this  is  business.  I'm  getting  four 
per  cent,  interest  on  my  money  in  the  bank  ;  I'm 
going  to  charge  you  five.  You  can't  refuse  me.  If 
I  were  well  and  on  my  feet  you  might  call  on  your 
silly  pride,  but  you  won't  thwart  a  poor  fellow  that's 
come  to  grief  as  I  have.  Besides,  I  have  an  eye  to 
the  main  chance  ;  I  want  higher  interest  ;  and  I'm 
an  old  friend  of  your  mother's.  You're  such  a  con- 
foundedly proud  little  thing  that  you're  ridiculous. 
Do  I  hear  Ruggles's  horse  coming  down  the  lane? 
Say, '  Mr.  Meloon,  I'll  borrow  your  money,  and  thank 
you  kindly.'  Hurry  ;  that  is  Ruggles." 

"  No,  Mr.  Meloon,  and  thank  you  kindly.  Good- 
morning,  Mr.  Ruggles." 

She  turned  back  towards  the  man  on  the  bed.  She 
softened  her  voice  as  she  continued,  quickly  : 

"  I  might  as  well  owe  one  person  as  another  ;  but 
you're  so  kind." 

Then  she  left  the  room  and  returned  to  her  butter- 
making.  Her  mother  came  to  ask  what  Mr.  Meloon 
had  wanted.  The  girl  looked  at  her  intently  and 


Till:    MK LOON    I- ARM 

strangely  for  an  instant,  forgetting  to  make  any  re- 
ply to  her  question.  In  the  next  moment,  however, 
she  related  everything  that  had  been  said. 

"  That's  just  like  him,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Armstrong; 
"  and  he's  doing  it  for  my  sake  ;  you  see  he  men- 
tioned me.  No,  men  ain't  so  fickle  as  folks  call  'em, 
and  I've  no  idea  he  cared  for  that  wife  of  his.  I 
expect  he's  been  faithful  all  this  time,  and  I'd  for- 
gotten him  ;  I  really  had.  You  may  be  sure  he  had 
an  object  in  writing  to  me  when  he  heard  your 
father  was  dead,  Miny." 

"All  the  same,  I  don't  think  I'll  take  his  money  ; 
I'll  pay  Miss  Runciman  some  day." 

When  she  had  worked  over  the  butter  for  the  first 
time  Billy  left  the  house.  She  went  to  the  top  of 
the  hill  in  the  south  lot  and  looked  over  the  farm, 
shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  her  eyes  contract- 
ing in  the  strong  light  of  the  May  sun.  She  was 
looking  for  Hildreth,  and  when  she  saw  him  in  the 
ploughed  land  at  the  north  she  began  to  walk  towards 
him,  striding  along  over  the  rough  ground  more 
like  a  man  than  like  a  woman. 

Hildreth  saw  her  coming.  He  was  holding  the 
plough  behind  a  pair  of  oxen  which  one  of  the  men 
was  driving.  He  was  stouter,  he  was  brown;  his 
hands  were  large  and  rough ;  he  wore  a  full  beard, 
which  was  not  closely  trimmed.  You  would  hardly 
have  guessed  that  this  was  the  man  who  had  been 
such  a  fascinating  tenor -lover  on  the  opera -stage. 
Sometimes  when  he  looked  in  the  glass,  or  at  his 
hands,  the  young  man  swore.  Then  he  would  smile 
and  think:  "Well,  it's  all  for  her.  So  long  as  she 
stays  I  can  stay,  and  no  hardship,  either — and,  at  the 
most,  release  is  near." 

Now  he  left  the  team  and  the  plough  to  the  other 
156 


MERELY  A  VOICE 

man  and  came  leaping  over  the  furrows  towards  Bil- 
ly. She  came  forward  and  took  his  hand,  leading 
him.  She  did  not  know  that  she  had  taken  his  hand ; 
she  only  knew  the  one  idea  that  possessed  her.  When 
they  reached  the  grass-land  she  dropped  the  hand, 
but  she  took  hold  of  the  fold  of  the  jumper  he  wore. 
He  was  staring  at  her,  not  daring  to  put  a  question 
as  yet. 

"  I'm  going  away,"  she  said. 

"What?" 

"Oh,  don't  stand  there  and  say  'What?'  Tell  me 
that  you're  sure  —  sure  that  I  can  sing  as  well  as 
when  we  sang  together  that  time." 

"  You  can  sing  better." 

"Do  you  know  it?  Are  you  positive  beyond  a 
shadow  of  doubt?" 

"  I'm  positive.     Why,  you  know  it  yourself." 

"  I  ?  I  know  nothing.  But  you  must  tell  me ;  and 
if  you're  not  right,  if  you're  mistaken,  if  I  fail  again, 
I  will  kill  myself." 

She  paused,  breathless  ;  then  she  laughed. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  me  if  I'm  rehearsing?  I  hate 
melodrama  in  real  life.  I  hate  any  appearance  of 
emotion ;  a  person  should  be  cold  and  hard,  like  a 
rock — I  like  a  rock ;  I  like  it  when  it  bruises  one's 
flesh." 

"  Billy  !" 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  worry.  I  suddenly  felt  that  I 
wouldn't  stay  here  another  day  ;  but  I  wanted  to  ask 
you  again,  on  your  honor,  if  you  think  I  can  be  a 
prima  donna.  You're  a  good  judge.  You  know." 

"  Yes,  you  can." 

"  Very  well ;  that's  all.  It  was  foolish  enough  for 
me  to  come  out  here  for  that,  wasn't  it?  You  heard 
me  sing  yesterda*y  ?" 


TilE    MELOON    1  -A KM 

Hilly,  what  arc  you  going  to  do?" 

"  I  told  you.  I'm  going  away.  No  matter  where. 
If  I  were  a  Romanist  I'd  say  I  was  going  into  retreat. 
But  I'm  not.  I  want  to  be  by  myself;  and  I  shall 
cultivate  my  voice.  I  shall  be  ready  when  fall  comes. 
I'm  deadly  tired  of  this  farm- work.  I'm  strong  as 
a  young  heifer  now,  thanks  to  my  life  here.  You 
must  take  me  to  the  station  for  the  afternoon  train — " 

"But,  Billy—" 

"  I  tell  you  not  to  say  '  But,  Billy  !'  It  rasps  on  me 
to  have  you  speak  like  that." 

"Very  well ;  but  I'm  bound  to  know  where  you  go. 
Will  your  mother  be  with  you?" 

"Mother?  No;  she  must  stay  here;  Mr.  Meloon 
needs  some  one.  I'm  going  by  myself.  It's  no  mat- 
ter where;  but  you  may  be  sure  of  one  thing:  I'll 
take  the  best  kind  of  care  of  myself — I'm  a  voice, 
I'm  not  a  woman.  You  wait;  you'll  hear  from  me; 
and  you  may  make  any  arrangements  for  the  autumn 
that  seem  good  to  you.  I'll  be  ready.  If  I  send  any- 
thing here  to  you,  it  '11  always  be  forwarded,  will  it? 
I  must  know  how  to  communicate  with  you.  That's 
all;  only  you  must  take  me  to  the  station  ;  we  must 
start  at  four,  for  I  wouldn't  miss  the  train  for  a  thou- 
sand worlds." 

Having  said  this,  the  girl  turned  and  ran  as  well 
as  she  could  over  the  newly  turned  furrows.  Hil- 
dreth  started  to  follow  her,  but  perhaps  she  divined 
his  intention,  for  she  paused  and  imperatively  mo- 
tioned him  back.  He  stood  an  instant  as  if  he  would 
disobey,  but  he  obeyed. 


XX 

GOING  AWAY 

BILLY  ran  to  her  own  room  as  straight  as  a  bird 
flies.  Once  there,  she  did  not  pause  to  take 
breath,  but  began  taking  down  her  few  belong- 
ings from  the  closet  and  throwing  them  on  the  bed. 
Then  she  pulled  her  trunk  out  and  flung  up  the  lid. 
In  doing  this  she  disclosed  piles  of  sheet -music 
which  she  had  pored  over  in  Paris.  She  took  up 
these  sheets  one  by  one,  her  face  changing  as  she 
glanced  over  the  notes. 

Presently  she  heard  footsteps  on  the  stairs.  She 
held  her  head  up  defiantly  as  her  mother  entered. 

"  I  didn't  know  but  you  left  the  Dutch  cheese  for 
me  to  make  and — but,  land  alive  !  what  you  up  to  ?" 
staring. 

"  I'm  getting  ready  to  go  away ;  I'm  going  away 
this  afternoon,"  hardily. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  sat  down  and  began  to  roll  her 
apron  up  over  her  hands. 

"  But  I  can't  git  ready  so  soon,"  helplessly. 

"You  need  not ;  I'm  going  alone." 

"Wilfaelminy!" 

The  girl's  eyes  were  as  unfeeling  as  steel  as  they 
met  her  mother's  gaze. 

"Yes  ;  I've  thought  it  all  out  within  the  last  few 
minutes.  I'm  tired  of  this.  I'd  be  mad  if  I  kept  on  in 
it,  though  I  did  think  I'd  stay  till  fall.  But  I  can't. 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

My  voice  has  come  back.  Some  women  live  for  a 
husband  or  a  child,  or  something  of  that  sort ;  I  live 
for  my  voice.  I  intend  to  get  as  much  happiness  out 
of  life  as  the  average — more.  I  must  be  ready  to 
start  by  four  this  afternoon.  When  I  get  somewhere 
I'll  write  to  you." 

Mrs.  Armstrong's  frightened  face  began  to  quiver, 
but  she  restrained  the  tears. 

"  Somewhere  !"  she  cried.  "  But  I've  got  to  know 
where.  You  tell  me  where,  or  I'll  go  with  you, 
whether  you  want  me  or  not." 

As  she  spoke  the  woman  looked  something  like  a 
belligerent  canary. 

"  I  can't  be  hampered,"  said  Billy. 

"Hampered  !" 

The  girl  was  now  piling  up  the  sheet-music  on  the 
floor  beside  the  trunk. 

"  I  always  do  exactly  as  you  tell  me  ;  you  know  I 
do,"  added  Mrs.  Armstrong.  There  was  no  reply  to 
this.  Billy  began  folding  a  gown.  Presently  she 
turned  towards  her  mother. 

"  I've  been  trying  to  decide.  I  think  I'll  stop  at 
one  of  those  towns  near  Boston.  I  can  go  to  the 
city  then  and  consult  musical  people,  if  I  want  to — 
but  I  don't  think  I  shall  want  to.  I've  got  a  little 
money — I've  saved  every  cent  I've  earned  here  to 
help  pay  Miss  Runciman.  No  matter  ;  she  can  wait. 
I'll  take  one  room  and  get  my  own  meals.  It  won't 
be  long  until  fall  comes,  and  I  shall  be  ready.  Oh,  you 
may  be  sure  that  I  shall  be  ready  !  Thank  fortune  ! 
this  is  a  country  where  a  girl  can  do  pretty  much 
as  she  pleases.  I'll  write  you  the  moment  I'm  set- 
tled. If  you  worry,  it  '11  be  your  own  fault.  That's 
my  plan." 

She  took  up  another  gown  and  began  folding  it. 
160 


"'LAND    ALIVE!    WHAT   ARE   YOU   UP   TO?' 


GOING   AWAY 

Her  mother  gazed  wistfully  at  her,  her  face  work- 
ing piteously. 

"  I  should  think  you'd  want  me  with  you,  Miny," 
she  said. 

And  now  she  began  to  cry. 

The  girl  looked  at  her  with  a  kind  of  cold  impa- 
tience. At  last  she  said : 

"  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  leave  here  now  ;  Mr. 
Meloon  needs  you.  If  I  were  a  boy  I  don't  suppose 
any  one  would  think  that  you  must  be  with  me." 

"  But  you  ain't  a  boy." 

Billy  frowned ;  she  did  not  speak  until  she  could 
say,  lightly: 

"Reasoning  was  never  your  strong  point,  mother." 

It  was  so  evident  that  nothing  she  could  say  would 
have  any  effect  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  now  gave  her- 
self up  to  unrestrained  weeping.  After  a  moment, 
however,  she  stopped  to  ask,  brokenly,  if  Mr.  Hil- 
dreth  knew  where  she  was  going. 

"  No." 

After  this  reply,  another  silence.  Billy  went  on 
packing.  She  was  not  crying;  her  features  were 
set  steadily  ;  her  hands  moved  deftly. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  rose. 

"  I  shouldn't  want  to  go  anywhere  without  you," 
she  said,  tremulously.  "  I  don't  understand." 

"The  case  is  simply  this :  you're  needed  here,  since 
Mr.  Meloon  met  with  this  accident.  As  for  me,  I 
can't  stand  this  humdrum,  dead-and-alive  way  any 
longer.  I  can't  stand  it,  and  I  won't." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  did  not  try  to  speak  again.  She 
left  the  room.  She  hoped  that  her  daughter  would 
call  her  back  ;  so  she  went  very  slowly  down  the 
stairs.  But  she  was  not  called.  She  could  not 
understand.  She  sat  down  on  the  last  step  and 
L  161 


THK    MK LOON    FA KM 

leaned  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  sobbing  into  her 
apron. 

It  had  been  bad  enough  in  Paris,  but  Miny  had 
never  been  in  the  least  like  this.  It  was  dreadful  to 
have  a  girl  who  wanted  to  be  a  prinia  donna.  It 
seemed  to  take  all  natural  feeling  out  of  her.  But 
Miny  had  never  been  like  this — no,  never  ! 

Plainly  she  was  not  to  be  called.  She  had  thought 
her  child  had  a  tender  heart.  She  couldn't  leave  her 
in  this  way  ;  she  would  go  back  up  the  stairs. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  had  gone  a  few  steps  when  young 
Ruggles  opened  the  door  below. 

"You  there,  Mis' Armstrong  ?"  he  called.  "Mr. 
Meloon  wants  you." 

The  woman  descended  again,  and  obeyed  the  sum- 
mons, not  daring  to  stop  to  bathe  her  face.  As  she 
hurried  through  the  kitchen  an  illuminating  Hash 
of  explanation  came  to  her.  Miny  must  have  quar- 
relled with  Mr.  Hildreth  ;  yes,  that  would  make 
things  clear,  for  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  never  yet 
divested  her  mind  of  the  belief  that  her  daughter, 
having  once  thought  that  she  loved  Hildreth  well 
enough  to  marry  him  clandestinely,  still  cherished 
that  affection  somewhere  in  her  heart,  whether  she 
acknowledged  it  to  herself  or  not.  Such  devotion  as 
Hildreth's  always  won  a  woman  sooner  or  later.  And 
there  was  a  romantic  fitness  about  such  an  end,  too, 
which  no  woman  could  fail  to  see. 

"So  you've  been  crying,"  said  Meloon,  abruptly, 
when  she  came  to  his  bedside. 

She  nodded.  She  was  not  crying  now,  but  her 
face  was  red  and  swollen. 

Ruggles  had  been  requested  to  remain  away  for  a 
few  moments. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  useless  to  ask  a  woman  why  she 
162 


GOING  AWAY 

cries ;  I  always  believed  that  women  enjoyed  being 
miserable ;  still,  Serissa,  what  have  you  been  crying 
about?" 

"  Miny  has  just  told  me  she  can't  stand  it  here 
any  longer." 

Mr.  Meloon  reached  up  to  the  place  where  his 
handkerchief  lay.  He  passed  a  fold  of  it  carefully 
across  his  mouth,  then  replaced  the  handkerchief. 

"  Well  ?"  he  said,  in  calm  interrogation. 

"  She's  goin'  away  this  afternoon." 

"  So  soon  as  that  ?  But  we  must  remember,  Se- 
rissa, that  she  has  borne  it  here  a  good  while." 

"  Borne  it  ?  What  should  we  have  done  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  you,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

"  Pshaw !" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  seemed  to  expect  that  he  was 
going  to  say  something  more,  but  he  remained  silent, 
and  she  remarked  that  she  hadn't  a  grain  of  doubt 
that  it  was  somehow  on  account  of  Mr.  Hildreth. 

"  I  do  believe  that  she  is  still  in  love  with  him." 

"  Still  ? — she  has  been  in  love  with  him,  then  ?" 

"Yes." 

Meloon  raised  himself  a  trifle  in  the  bed.  He 
moved  his  head  restlessly  two  or  three  times,  then 
he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  face  by  his  bedside.  These 
eyes  were  so  keen  and  strong  that  they  made  a  great 
contrast  to  his  hollow,  white  face. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  he  spoke,  and  then 
he  said : 

"And  quite  natural,  too." 

"That's  just  what  I  think." 

"But  why  should  she  go  away?"  he  asked.  "Or 
perhaps  they  have  gone  together  ?" 

He  raised  his  voice  to  a  high,  harsh  tone.  It  al- 
most seemed  as  if  he  would  get  up  from  the  bed. 

163 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

"No;  I  guess  they  don't  mean  that.  I'm  sure 
she's  going  alone.  You  can't  tell  much  what  a  girl 
who  is  in  love  will  do,  'specially  if  she's  a  singer 
also." 

"You're  right,  Serissa,  you're  right.  To  be  a 
woman,  to  be  in  love,  and  to  have  the  artistic  tem- 
perament— "  Meloon  began  to  laugh.  "  It  would  take 
God  himself  to  predict  what  a  human  being  would 
do  under  those  circumstances,  wouldn't  it?" 

He  continued  to  laugh  with  such  apparent  amuse- 
ment that  his  companion  could  only  stare  at  him. 
She  had  never  understood  Meloon  in  the  old  days, 
and  he  puzzled  her  now  more  than  ever. 

"  I  suppose  they  were  in  love  that  night  when  I 
heard  them  singing  at  each  other  on  the  stage  in 
New  York,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  suppose  so." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  longing  to  relate  the  whole 
story,  but  she  had  never  yet  told  it.  It  had  come  to 
seem  a  kind  of  dream  to  her  now.  Perhaps  it  was 
what  Meloon  called  the  artistic  temperament  that 
made  her  daughter  so  different  from  the  girls  of 
her  age  at  home.  The  mother  was  proud  of  her, 
but  she  sighed  all  the  same.  She  had  hoped  all 
these  freaks  would  cease;  but  now  Miny  could  sing 
again — 

"  Oh,  dear !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Armstrong,  aloud. 
Then  she  hastened  to  ask  : 

"  Did  you  want  me  ?  The  young  man  said  you 
wanted  me." 

"  Oh  yes — so  I  did.  I  sent  for  you.  But  I  think 
I've  forgotten  what  it  was.  You  may  go  now. 
Awfully  kind  of  you  to  stay  here,  Serissa.  I  know 
I'm  about  as  bad  as  a  chained  tiger  in  these  days. 
You  may  go  now." 


RUGGLES 


GOING  AWAY 

She  walked  towards  the  door. 

"  See  here,"  he  called.  "  Keep  that  Ruggles  from 
coming  in  at  present ;  it  won't  be  safe  for  him  to 
come  now.  Tell  him  I  feel  like  having  a  long  nap." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  hurried  out,  and  carefully  latched 
the  door  behind  her.  \ 

Meloon,  left  alone,  seemed  immediately  to  carry 
out  his  declared  intention  of  going  to  sleep.  He 
closed  his  eyes  and  kept  them  thus.  One  sinewy 
hand  lay  outside  the  coverlet ;  the  ringers  were, 
perhaps,  shut  too  tightly  for  slumber,  but  nothing 
moved  save  heart  and  lungs  as  they  mechanically 
performed  their  work.  This  silence  and  immobility 
continued  long,  and  at  last  seemed  to  create  a  kind  of 
eerie  atmosphere  in  the  room.  What  was  it  that  at 
last  made  Trooper,  who  was  stretched  on  a  rug  at 
the  other  side  of  the  bed,  move  uneasily  ?  He  lifted 
his  head,  and  his  black  nostrils  worked  as  he  silent- 
ly sniffed.  Then  he  slowly  raised  his  enormous, 
tawny  bulk  and  walked  around  the  bed  that  he  might 
be  nearer  where  his  master  usually  lay.  He  put  his 
muzzle  on  the  end  of  the  pillow,  resting  it  there  a 
moment.  No  notice  was  taken  of  him,  and  he  pressed 
his  head  still  farther  along,  making  a  slight,  pleading 
noise  under  his  breath,  and  swinging  his  tail  slowly 
and  interrogatively.  Still  he  received  no  response. 
His  tail  swung  more  rapidly  ;  he  whined  audibly. 

Meloon  opened  his  eyes  and  turned  his  head.  He 
extended  his  hand  and  took  hold  of  the  dog's  ear. 
The  man  at  this  moment  looked  so  haggard,  so  pal- 
lid, and  so  old  that  he  seemed  almost  twice  his  real 
age.  He  did  not  smile,  and  it  was  a  moment  before 
he  spoke. 

"  It's  you  and  I,  isn't  it,  Trooper  ?  Just  you  and  I. 
And  we've  known  it  all  along." 

165 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

The  dog  wagged  now  so  hard  that  the  bed  shook. 
He  lifted  himself  and  put  his  two  huge  front  paws  on 
the  side,  reaching  over  and  hurriedly  licking  his 
master's  face. 

"  Why,  old  fellow,  you  want  me  to  be  sure  you 
love  me,  don't  you  ?  Sure  of  it — oh  yes,  I'm  sure  of 
it — there — there.  I  hope  you'll  live  as  long  as  I  do. 
We're  just  a  man  and  his  dog,  aren't  we?  An  old 
man  and  his  dog,  eh?  Hush!  Be  gentle — there — 
lie  down  there,  if  you  want  to." 

Overjoyed  at  this  permission,  Trooper  scrambled 
up  beside  his  master  and  stretched  himself  alongside, 
his  yellow  head  with  its  black  mask  on  the  pillow, 
his  tail  beating  the  bed. 

Meloon  moved  a  little  so  that  he  could  place  one 
arm  partially  over  the  dog's  neck.  Presently  Trooper 
fell  asleep  and  snored.  Meloon  again  closed  his 
eyes,  and  now  no  tremor  of  the  lids  betrayed  that  he 
also  was  not  sleeping. 


XXI 

A  ROOM    IN   ROXBURY 

MELOON  did  not  see  Billy  again  before  she  de- 
parted.    At  her  mother's  earnest  request  she 
sent  in  to  say  that  she  was  going,  and  would 
say  good-bye. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  said  that  it  was  outrageous  for 
Miny  to  go  away  and  not  speak  a  word  to  one  who 
had  been  so  kind.  Ruggles,  the  attendant,  came  out 
to  say  that  Mr.  Meloon  seemed  to  be  resting,  and  he 
had  asked  Miss  Armstrong  to  excuse  him ;  he  hated 
good-byes,  anyway. 

Billy  flushed  as  she  received  this  message.  She 
kissed  her  mother  and  went  to  the  carriage.  Hil- 
dreth  stood  at  the  horse's  head.  This  horse  was  the 
mate  of  the  colt  that  had  been  injured,  and  that  was 
now  hobbling  about  in  a  paddock,  or  resting  in  a  loose 
box.  She  would  never  be  good  for  anything  again, 
everybody  said,  and  any  man  but  Rawdon  would 
have  killed  her. 

"  Knock  me  in  the  head  rather  than  her,"  Meloon 
had  replied  to  this  suggestion. 

When  the  colt  had  trotted  away  in  the  open  wagon 
with  Billy  and  Hildreth  on  the  one  seat,  and  Billy's 
trunk  in  behind,  Meloon  called  peremptorily  to  Rug- 
gles to  help  him  to  sit  up,  and  to  bring  him  writing- 
paper  and  a  pen. 

"  Now  leave  the  room." 
167 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

Ruggles  left  the  room. 
Meloon  began  to  write. 

"  You're  such  a  rash  little  girl,  Billy,  that  it  remains  for 
older  people  to  have  an  eye  to  you.  I  know  just  how  much 
money  you  have — what  you've  earned  here  in  the  last  few 
months.  I  want  you  to  have  more.  I  send  a  check  for 
one  hundred  dollars  in  this.  I  send  it  because  I  shall  feel 
easier  about  you  if  you  have  it.  You  needn't  use  it  unless 
you  are  obliged,  and  you  may  return  it  when  you  get  more. 
If  you  send  it  back  now  I  shall  never  forgive  you,  and  shall 
think  that  you  haven't  the  grace  to  accept  a  favor.  You 
know  it's  easy  enough  to  grant  a  favor — it's  the  taking  that 
tells  what  a  person's  nature  is.  Now,  Billy,  don't  disap- 
point me." 

Then  Meloon  called  for  his  check-book,  and  a  few 
moments  later  Ruggles  was  riding  after  the  colt  and 
the  light  wagon. 

"Don't  you  dare  to  come  back  here  unless  you 
overtake  them,"  he  said. 

Billy  was  silent.  She  was  also  gloomy.  She  was 
experiencing  the  reaction  that  so  often  comes  after 
one  has  acted  upon  an  impulse.  Not  that  she  thought 
of  retreating.  She  had  her  plans  definitely  formed. 

The  colt  was  walking  up  a  hill.  Hildreth,  of  ne- 
cessity, was  also  silent,  since  his  companion  did  not 
speak  and  did  not  appear  to  hear  him  when  he  spoke. 

They  heard  a  horse  galloping  behind  them.  Billy 
turned  and  saw  it  was  Ruggles. 

"Something  has  happened!"  she  exclaimed,  and 
put  out  her  hand  to  the  reins.  Ruggles  was  waving 
the  letter  in  his  hand.  Hildreth  was  muttering  an 
expletive. 

"  It's  for  you,"  said  Ruggles ;  and  turned  his  horse 
to  gallop  back. 

Billy  tore  open  the  envelope.  Her  eyes  ran  down 
1 68 


A   ROOM    IN   ROXBURY 

the  lines.  She  covered  the  check  'within  the  palm 
of  her  hand.  Suddenly  and  inexplicably  she  felt  that 
she  could  not  go  on.  All  her  resolution  oozed  out 
of  her. 

"  I'm  going  back !"  she  announced. 

"  What,  now  ?    Then  something  has  happened  ?" 

"  Nothing ;  but  I  must  see  Mr.  Meloon  again." 

"  If  we  don't  go  on  now  we  sha'n't  catch  that 
train,"  with  still  greater  wonder. 

"  No  matter ;  we  won't  catch  it,  then." 

Billy  set  her  lips  together. 

"  Heaven  knows  I  don't  want  you  to  go  on !"  ex- 
claimed Hildreth,  and  he  turned  the  horse. 

"Have  you  forgotten  something?"  asked  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  rushing  out  as  they  drove  up. 

"Yes,"  said  Billy;  "but  don't  ask  me  now,  please." 

She  had  jumped  from  the  carriage.  She  walked 
by  her  mother,  going  straight  to  the  sitting-room. 
Young  Ruggles  came  forward  on  tiptoe,  with  his 
hand  raised. 

" Hush !"  he  whispered.     "He's  asleep." 

"I'm  not  asleep  either,"  froiruthe  bedroom;  "let 
her  come  in.  But  she'll  lose  that  train." 

The  girl  walked  on,  obeying  that  voice.  After- 
wards, in  thinking  of  that  moment,  she  could  not 
tell  what  she  had  intended  to  say ;  she  only  knew 
that  it  all  came  out  differently  from  what  she  had 
meant. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know  I  shall  lose  the  train." 

She  came  close  to  the  bed  and  extended  her  hand. 
Meloon  put  out  his  own  hand  and  just  touched  her 
fingers;  then  his  hand  dropped.  For  some  reason 
she  immediately  flushed  deeply. 

With  an  impulsive  movement  the  man  now  reached 
forward  and  took  both  her  hands  in  a  close  clasp. 

169 


THE    MELOON   FARM 

"  I  couldn't  go  without  seeing  you  again,  after  all," 
she  began,  hurriedly,  "  when  I  read  your  note— and 
that  money — " 

"Billy, arc  you  going  to  hurt  me  by  bringing  that 
back  ?" 

"  Xo — no — I'm  going  to  keep  it.  I'm  going  to 
keep  that  bit  of  paper  forever  " — here  a  passionate 
intensity  came  to  her  tone,  her  eyes  filled.  She 
went  on  rapidly — "  as  a  kind  of  keepsake,  you  know 
— as  if  I  should  ever  forget  your  kindness  to  mother 
and  me!  —  you'll  think  I'm  just  an  emotional,  silly 
kind  of  a  girl — and  so  I  am.  But  I  want  you  to  un- 
derstand that  I  know  how  good  you've  been  to  us ; 
I  know — " 

"You  certainly  are  a  silly  kind  of  girl  to  magnify 
things  in  this  way.  You've  worked  for  me  and  I've 
paid  you.  Now  I  loan  you  a  little  money  on  good 
interest — " 

Meloon  spoke  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 

"It  isn't  that,"  interrupted  Billy,  "it's — it's  your 
kindness  —  something  I  can't  describe.  I  suppose 
that's  the  way  you  are  to  poor  creatures  who  haven't 
any  homes.  One  thing  I  came  back  to  say  is  that  I 
don't  think  I  shall  go  now,  after  all." 

Having  made  this  announcement,  Billy  certainly 
expected  a  cordial  assent,  and  was  sufficiently  sur- 
prised when,  after  a  moment's  pause,  Meloon  said : 

"  You  are  mistaken  in  that — I'm  sure  you're  mis- 
taken in  that." 

She  could  not  speak.  Though  he  was  so  kind, 
and  had  made  them  both  so  welcome,  he  was  glad 
to  have  her  go  then.  She  began  to  stiffen,  while 
her  heart  burned  within  her. 

"  You  won't  be  contented  here  now,"  he  went  on  ; 
"I  don't  mean  by  that  that  you  were  contented  be- 

170 


A    ROOM    IN   ROXBURY 

fore,  but  you  were  resigned,  Billy;   you  would  do 
better  to  go." 

"  Very  well,"  she  responded.  "  I  can't  go  now  until 
to-morrow." 

She  was  pale,  but  she  spoke  very  quietly. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  shall  not  miss  you." 

She  had  gone  a  few  steps  towards  the  door.  She 
paused  long  enough  to  say : 

"  I'm  sure  your  advice  is  best,  Mr.  Meloon.  I  will 
try  it  again  to-morrow.  It  always  makes  one  a  little 
ridiculous  to  come  back  after  one  has  started ;  it's 
like  stepping  into  a  wrong  place." 

"You  don't  understand,"  returned  Meloon;  "and 
I  suppose  you  never  will." 

"  It's  of  no  consequence,"  said  Billy.  "  Good-bye 
— as  I  probably  shall  not  see  you  again." 

"Good-bye." 

She  left  the  room,  and  the  door  closed  behind  her. 

Meloon  lay  watching  the  door  for  many  moments. 
Then  he  moved  slightly,  and  said,  below  his  breath : 

"  I'm  glad  she's  going.  If  I  could  help  it  I  wouldn't 
have  her  in  the  house  another  day — not  another  day." 

Having  spoken  thus  to  himself,  Meloon  soon  called 
to  Ruggles,  and  commissioned  him  to  inform  Miss 
Armstrong  that  if  she  wished  to  leave  her  dog  until 
later  he  should  be  cared  for.  The  answer  came  that 
Lotos  would  go  with  her,  and  thank  Mr.  Meloon. 

Billy  thought  that  all  her  life  she  should  remember 
the  stinging  sense  of  humiliation  she  felt  the  rest  of 
that  long  spring  afternoon  and  the  hours  of  the  next 
day.  She  carefully  avoided  Hildreth.  She  helped 
ner  mother  with  strenuous  eagerness;  she  did  not 
sleep  at  all  during  the  night,  and  at  last  the  time 
came  for  her  to  go  again.  She  had  been  acting  in  an 
absurd  and  ridiculous  manner. 

171 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

She  wished  to  lash  the  horse  to  make  him  take 
her  faster  away  from  the  Mcloon  farm.  Instead, 
however,  she  sat  sedately  by  Hildreth's  side  and 
looked  off  vaguely  over  the  country  of  hills  and 
dales.  Everywhere  was  the  confident  green  of  the 
spring;  everywhere  the  birds  were  up  in  the  blue 
sky  or  flying  joyously  down  to  unseen  nests  among 
the  trees. 

When  Hildreth  spoke  his  voice  sounded  far  away, 
and  she  was  obliged  to  rouse  herself  to  listen.  At 
the  station  she  saw  him  and  the  agent  come  out,  and 
the  latter  fastened  a  check  to  her  trunk.  It  seemed 
to  her  a  scene  on  the  stage,  and  this  notion  was 
strengthened  when  she  heard  the  roar  of  the  com- 
ing train,  and  Hildreth,  standing  close  to  her  and 
gazing  at  her  in  a  strained  fashion,  seized  her  hand 
and  kissed  it  repeatedly.  Billy,  glancing  over  his 
shoulder,  saw  the  station-agent  looking  at  them  in- 
tently. She  knew  what  he  would  tell  his  wife,  and 
what  his  wife  would  tell  everybody  else,  and  she  be- 
gan to  laugh.  Hildreth  started  back. 

"  Do  forgive  me,"  she  said  ;  "  I  didn't  sleep  last 
night ;  I'm  nervous.  I  was  thinking  what  that  man 
would  say  about  us.  Here's  the  train ;  please  take 
my  bag;  I  want  to  get  Lotos  in  myself.  Good-bye 
— until  the  fall.  Yes,  I'll  be  sure  to  write." 

She  and  Lotos  stood  on  the  platform  of  the  car  as 
the  train  went  on,  she  holding  the  dog's  collar.  She 
was  not  looking  at  Hildreth ;  she  was  looking  be- 
yond him  to  the  hills  where  stood  the  farm-house 
that  had  sheltered  her.  She  could  not  see  it,  how- 
ever. Presently  she  took  her  seat,  and  the  conductor 
came  and  promptly  proposed  to  put  the  dog  in  the 
baggage-car.  To  Billy  in  her  present  state  of  mind 
this  seemed  too  much,  and  she  went  with  the  dog  and 

172 


A  ROOM   IN   ROXBURY 

sat  uncomfortably  on  a  trunk  for  long  hours,  with 
Lotos  on  the  floor  by  her. 

Once  during  the  journey  she  roused  herself  to 
consider  what  the  journey's  end  would  be;  she 
bought  a  Boston  daily  paper  and  studied  advertise- 
ments of  rooms  to  let.  She  found  one  far  out  at  the 
vSouth  End — a  room,  up  three  flights,  which  could  be 
had,  without  meals,  for  $3.50  per  week. 

Arriving,  she  took  a  cab  and  went  there,  to  find 
that  the  landlady  had  a  constitutional  fear  of  dogs, 
particularly  of  smooth  -  haired,  grizzled  ones.  It 
seemed  that  her  first  husband  had  been  bitten  in 
the  leg  by  a  smooth-haired,  grizzled  dog. 

"  Did  he  die  ?"  asked  Billy. 

"  Yes,  in  time." 

"I  mean  did  the  dog's  bite  kill  him?" 

"  Oh  no ;  he  died  of  consumption  ten  years  after. 
But  it  might  have  killed  him,  you  know.  I  couldn't 
think  of  taking  him" — referring  now  to  Lotos;  "I 
could  accommodate  you  first-rate;  and  I  think  I'd 
take  you,  though  you  have  no  references.  I  always 
ask  and  give  references.  You  must  excuse  me,"  ris- 
ing and  going  towards  the  door;  "I  smell  some- 
thing burning ;  I've  got  a  new  cook,  and  she  burns 
everything.  Good -evening;  I'm  sure  I  hope  you 
will  find  a  place.  Yes,  that  meat  is  burned  to  a 
cinder." 

So  Billy  and  Lotos  took  the  cab  again. 

When  the  man  shut  the  door  he  naturally  asked, 
"  Where  to  ?"  and  Billy  couldn't  tell.  Moved  by  a 
sudden  impulse,  she  inquired  : 

"  Do  you  know  where  they'll  take  me  and  my  dog? 
They  don't  seem  to  want  dogs." 

"My  wife '11  let  you  a  room,"  was  the  answer;  "she 
lets  rooms.  We've  got  a  pup  ourselves — we  'ain't  got 

173 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

nothin*  aginst  dogs.  We  live  in  Roxbury.  Shall  I 
take  ye  there?" 

"Oh  yes,"  thankfully. 

And  that  was  why  the  girl  went  to  Roxbury  and 
lived  in  a  little  wooden  house  with  three  feet  of 
land  on  each  side  of  it,  and  a  small  backyard  where 
Lotos  was  understood  to  exercise  himself,  but  where 
he  really  fought  flies  in  his  daily  attempts  to  sleep, 
while  his  mistress  was  singing  in  her  room. 

The  place  was  on  a  side  street,  where  junk-carts 
and  scissors-grinders  seemed  to  be  passing  most  of 
the  time.  It  was  a  locality  also  where  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  digging  in  the  street,  and  of  sewer-gas 
escaping;  men  in  greasy  overalls,  with  pipes  in  their 
mouths  and  picks  in  their  hands — altogether  a  con- 
trast to  the  farm  from  which  Billy  had  come.  Her 
landlady  appeared  not  to  mind  the  sights  or  the 
stenches ;  she  was  kind  and  curious.  It  was  to  curi- 
osity that  Billy  laid  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Knox  fre- 
quently lurked  on  the  dark  stairs  to  hear  the  sing- 
ing in  her  lodger's  room.  She  said  it  was  like  some 
singing  she  had  once  heard  in  a  side-show  of  a  cir- 
cus. Did  Billy,  perhaps,  belong  to  a  side-show  ? 

The  girl  laughed,  but  she  cried  afterwards.  Some- 
how her  life  had  descended.  Only  once  in  a  while, 
when  she  was  singing,  did  she  feel  the  glow  and  ex- 
altation which  were  familiar  to  her.  But  her  voice 
increased  in  power  and  volume. 


XXII 
A  STREET  SCENE 

SHE  had  not  sent  word  to  her  mother. 
"To-morrow  I  will  write,"  she  said  to  herself; 
but  she  did  not.  When  to-morrow  came  some- 
thing invincible  seemed  to  hold  her  from  walking  to 
the  corner  where  was  the  mail-box,  and  dropping  in 
the  note  she  had  written — for  she  wrote — she  had 
written  many  times.  She  knew  how  wicked  this 
was ;  at  last  it  began  to  be  a  kind  of  obsession,  or 
she  fancied  that  it  was.  At  the  end  of  a  fortnight 
she  had  almost  given  up  trying  to  post  the  letters 
that  had  accumulated;  and  she  thought  less  and 
less  of  her  mother's  anxiety ;  as  for  Hildreth — well, 
though  she  had  promised  to  write  to  them  both,  she 
suddenly  remembered  that  she  had  not  promised  to 
write  immediately.  Some  time  she  would  send  them 
word.  Meanwhile  she  studied  and  practised.  She 
took  long  walks  with  Lotos  through  uninteresting 
streets  that  finally  reached  the  country;  but  it  wasn't 
the  real,  free,  open  country — it  was  either  squalid,  or 
it  was  fine  with  villas  from  whose  grounds  glittering 
carriages  rolled.  She  didn't  know  which  she  hated 
more — the  squalor  or  the  grandeur.  All  the  time  she 
was  possessed  by  the  fancy  that  she  had  cut  herself 
off  forever  from  her  old  life,  from  everything  but  the 
singing  part  of  it;  and  that  the  wound  thus  made 
was  bleeding.  She  knew  that  this  was  a  fancy,  but 

175 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

she  could  not  put  it  away  from  her.  She  conversed 
much  with  her  dog  in  these  days.  She  sat  down  by 
the  way-side  under  the  trees ;  she  thought  of  the 
time  when  she  was  to  sing,  of  how  she  had  made 
butter  on  the  farm,  and  the  fresh  odor  of  the  yel- 
low stuff  mingled  with  the  scent  of  clover  and  dai- 
sies. It  was  June  now ;  she  had  left  the  farm 
three  weeks  ago — it  might  as  well  have  been  three 
years. 

One  day  she  was  sitting  under  some  trees  in  the 
most  country-like  part  of  Brookline.  There  was  a 
stream  of  carriages  and  bicycles  going  by.  A  man 
wheeled  slowly  down  the  road,  glanced  up  at  her  as 
she  sat  there,  and  presently  returned.  He  dis- 
mounted and  came  towards  her,  hat  in  hand.  He 
had  a  long  face  with  a  tiny  mustache  waxed  care- 
fully and  drawn  up  from  his  lips  so  that  his  prom- 
inent yellow-white  teeth  appeared  still  more  prom- 
inent. His  head  was  bald  on  top  and  shone  in  the 
brilliant  sun.  He  was  past  middle  age,  but  he  was 
still  slender  and  was  dressed  in  the  nattiest  of  wheel- 
ing suits. 

Lotos  watched  his  approach,  muttering  suspicious- 
ly, but  the  stranger  did  not  notice  the  dog. 

"  I  hope  you'll  pardon  me,"  he  said  to  Billy,  "  but 
I  never  forget  a  face.  I  saw  you  in  New  York." 

The  girl  made  no  reply;  she  looked  at  him  ex- 
pectantly. 

"  I  saw  you  with  Leonora  Runciman,"  he  contin- 
ued. "  I  heard  you  sing.  I  can't  be  mistaken." 

"No,"  she  said,  "you're  not  mistaken." 

He  continued  standing  before  her  with  his  hat 
still  in  his  hand;  the  dog  had  ceased  growling  and 
was  apparently  listening  to  the  conversation. 

The  man  seemed  in  no  haste  to  speak  again;  he 
176 


A  STREET  SCENE 

was  contemplating  Billy  with  close,  but  perfectly 
respectful,  attention. 

"  I  saw  you  afterwards,"  he  resumed  at  last.  "  In 
fact,  I  was  at  Milan,  and  was  at  the  theatre  that 
night  when  your  voice  failed." 

The  girl  blanched  somewhat  as  she  heard  these 
words;  but  she  braced  herself  directly,  and  waited 
in  silence.  Her  interest  was  beginning  to  be  acute. 

"  It  was  a  magnificent  voice,"  he  said,  with  unc- 
tion ;  "  you  might  have  conquered  the  world.  I  tried 
every  way  to  find  you.  I  went  to  Marchesi,  but 
either  she  could  not  or  would  not  give  me  any  in- 
formation. Curious  that  when  I  had  given  up  all 
thought  of  the  matter  I  should  see  you  by  the  road- 
side here  in  Massachusetts." 

He  now  replaced  his  hat  and  again  indulged  in  a 
short  silence,  during  which  he  smoothed  upward  his 
tiny  mustache,  still  keeping  his  gaze  upon  the  girl. 
But  she  could  not  help  thinking  that  he  studied  her 
as  a  singing-machine  rather  than  as  a  woman. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  ever  heard  of  me,"  he  said  at 
last ;  "  my  name  is  Boldrea — Emanuel  Boldrea." 

Billy  started  to  her  feet. 

"Oh  yes!"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 

He  smiled.  "  Now  you  know  why  I  wanted  to  find 
you.  You  see,  I  was  afraid  that  you  would  despair, 
and  would  not  try  to  recover  your  voice ;  and  I  be- 
lieved that  you  need  not  despair.  Miss  Runciman 
knew  where  you  were;  but  she  is  now  very  relig- 
ious"— he  smiled  again — "and  she  would  tell  me 
nothing.  She  said  that  she  would  do  nothing  to 
lessen  your  chance  of  heaven" — here  the  speaker 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  She  even  went  so  far  as 
to  call  me  a  Mephistopheles.  You  don't  consider  me 
a  Mephistopheles,  do  you,  Miss  Armstrong,  when  I 
M  177 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

tempt  you  to  try  to  sing  again?  I  will  not  charge 
you  a  penny.  I  want  the  glory  of  putting  you  back 
on  the  stage." 

Notwithstanding  this  man's  foreign  mustache  and 
his  foreign  name,  he  had  quite  an  American  way  of 
talking;  and  later  Billy  found  that  he  was  an  Eng- 
lishman, with  an  Italian  mother,  and  had  chosen  a 
name  for  himself. 

"  I  am  going  back  to  the  stage  this  fall,"  answered 
Billy,  "thanks  to  your  method." 

"  Ah !  ah !  I  congratulate  you  —  I  congratulate 
myself." 

He  stepped  forward  and  took  her  hand,  bowing 
over  it  impressively,  although  Lotos  bristled  and 
growled  again. 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  hear  you  sing?" 

Billy  appointed  the  next  morning,  and  gave  Bol- 
drea  her  address.  She  saw  him  wheel  smoothly  away, 
and  as  she  watched  him  she  thought  that  here  was 
another  means  brought  to  her  hand  to  enable  her 
to  cut  herself  away  from  the  old  life.  She  had  not 
planned  to  cut  herself  away%;  but  the  power  was  put 
into  her  hand,  as  if  fate  were  pushing  her.  She 
liked  to  argue  in  this  way,  as  we  all  do  in  support 
of  our  inclination  or  our  freaks. 

When  she  was  in  her  hot  little  room  at  Mrs. 
Knox's,  Billy  wrote  another  note  to  her  mother ; 
there  was  a  curious  satisfaction  in  doing  this, 
though  by  this  time  she  knew  very  well  that  sin- 
would  not  send  the  note.  She  felt  cold  and  hard 
towards  the  past.  In  these  days  she  used  to  exam- 
ine her  face  in  the  glass  to  see  if  she  had  changed 
outwardly  as  much  as  inwardly.  She  was  growing 
thin;  she  did  not  care  to  eat  much;  but  she  took 
milk  and  meat,  careful  to  select  food  to  strengthen 

178 


A  STREET   SCENE 

her.  She  studied  her  physical  needs  with  the  ut- 
most care ;  she  kept  out-of-doors  a  great  deal ;  she 
neglected  nothing  that  should  further  her  purpose. 

Boldrea  arrived  at  the  precise  moment  of  the  ap- 
pointment, and  she  sang  for  him,  with  her  face  burn- 
ing and  her  hands  cold.  She  sang  whatever  he  sug- 
gested. He  stood  in  the  bit  of  a  parlor  and  watched 
her  and  listened,  his  hands  resting  on  the  back  of  a 
chair.  He  had  opened  the  door  and  windows. 

"  It  is  like  singing  in  a  box,"  he  remarked. 

He  stood  looking  at  her  for  some  moments  after 
she  had  stopped  singing ;  then  he  abruptly  asked  if 
she  would  go  to  England ;  if  she  would  be  willing  to 
make  her  debut  there  instead  of  in  America ;  in  that 
case  she  might  return  with  the  prestige  of  a  foreign 
success. 

"  It  is  not  I  who  manage  these  things,  however," 
he  added.  "  But " — here  he  mentioned  a  well-known 
impresario — "  is  my  friend,  and  he  has  not  forgotten 
you.  My  wife  and  I  return  next  week.  Madame 
Boldrea  will  be  happy  to  have  you  go  with  us.  Is  it 
arranged?" 

"  Let  me  think  of  it,"  said  Billy,  in  a  low  voice. 

The  proposition  tempted  her  immeasurably.  She 
wished  that  she  might  go  to  another  planet.  She 
wished  that  she  might  throw  off  her  own  identity  and 
become  some  one  else.  Perhaps  she  might  become 
some  one  else.  Was  there  no  science  that  could  work 
that  transformation  ?  If  she  could  divest  herself  of 
that  individuality  which  had  thus  far  been  hers,  she 
could  then  cast  away  all  her  old  duties  and  responsi- 
bilities. She  would  keep  only  her  voice.  She  was 
tired  of  herself.  This  fancy,  absurd  as  it  was,  be- 
came stronger  as  the  hours  went  by.  She  was  quite 
aware  how  absurd  it  was,  but  it  had  a  great  power. 

179 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

She  could,  in  a  way,  hide  behind  it.  She  might  slough 
off  the  woman  she  had  thus  far  been.  Would  that 
be  any  more  strange  than  that  the  snake  could  writhe 
out  of  his  old  skin?  And  she  would  keep  only  her 
voice.  There  is  a  lurking  devil  in  each  one  of  us. 
Sometimes  he  never  awakens  save  to  peep  out  once 
or  twice  in  a  lifetime;  sometimes  he  suddenly  comes 
to  a  full  life  and  takes  possession.  Then  we  say : 
"  How  that  man  has  changed  !  He  has  always  been 
such  a  good  man  until  now  ;"  or  "  How  we  have  mis- 
understood that  man !" 

That  devil  was  peeping  out  of  Billy's  eyes  as  she 
brushed  her  hair  that  night  before  her  glass.  And 
she  saw  him  and  welcomed  him. 

"  I  will  go  with  the  Boldreas,"  she  said,  aloud ;  and  so 
she  told  that  gentleman  when  he  came  the  next  day. 

"  I  haven't  money  enough  to  take  a  first-class  pas- 
sage," she  explained,  "  but  I  can  cross  in  the  same 
ship  with  you  and  madam.  No,  no!  you  needn't 
lend  me  anything — not  yet.  If  I'm  a  success,  all  will 
be  well;  if  I'm  not — why,  then,  all  will  be  well  just 
the  same.  In  three  days,  you  say,  the  steamer  starts. 
I'm  ready." 

Boldrea  looked  at  the  speaker  narrowly.  When  he 
returned  to  the  hotel  he  told  his  wife  that  there  was 
something  odd  about  that  girl ;  she  evidently  had 
something  on  her  mind ;  but  she  could  sing  like  an 
angel  and  a  woman,  which  was  all  that  concerned 
them. 

"  Some  love  affair,"  responded  madame,  comfort- 
ably. She  was  a  thick,  fat  woman,  who  spoke  unct- 
uously, and  who  looked  upon  life  as  a  means  whereby 
one  was  enabled  to  eat  and  drink  good  things.  One 
often  wonders  what  kind  of  a  future  life  awaits  such 
a  person — not  a  spiritual  life,  surely — what  then? 

1 80 


THE    FIDDLER    ON    THE    CORNER 


A   STREET  SCENE 

On  the  day  but  one  before  the  steamer  was  to  sail 
from  the  East  Boston  wharf,  Boldrea  brought  his 
wife  to  call  upon  Miss  Armstrong.  Billy  received 
them  in  the  parlor,  which  could  hardly  hold  the 
three  of  them.  Madame  expressed  her  pleasure  at 
the  prospect  of  the  girl's  company. 

"  But  you  won't  have  my  company,"  said  Billy, 
composedly ;  "  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  associate  with  the 
saloon  passengers.  I'm  as  poor  as  a  rat  —  though 
rats  always  look  plump  to  me,"  with  a  laugh.  "  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  borrow  to  get  something  to  wear 
on  the  stage ;  but  I'm  going  to  pinch  all  I  can." 

Madame  murmured  something  in  her  throat  in  re- 
sponse to  this  ;  and  when  she  was  on  the  street 
again  she  informed  her  husband  that  she  didn't  like 
the  looks  of  that  girl,  and  there  would  be  sure  to  be 
some  kind  of  trouble  sooner  or  later  with  her. 

"  However,"  she  ended,  "  I'm  not  going  to  worry 
about  her." 

Which  was  quite  likely,  as  she  never  worried  about 
anything  that  was  not  food. 

"I'm  glad  I've  caught  her,"  was  the  response; 
"  she'll  be  worth  her  weight  in  gold  in  opera ;  and  if 
she  has  anything  on  her  mind — why,  she  has  a  good 
chance  of  getting  rid  of  it ;  and  as  for  a  love  affair, 
young  women  are  always  in  the  midst  of  one." 

Billy  went  out  into  the  street  with  her  callers  and 
saw  them  get  into  their  carriage.  It  was  a  very 
warm  day.  July  had  come  in  with  great  heat.  The 
sewer-gas  seemed  rather  stronger  than  usual  in  the 
street,  although  the  trenches  had  been  covered.  A 
blind  man  was  playing  a  riddle  on  the  corner  near 
by.  At  his  feet  sat  a  very  dirty  and  disreputable- 
looking  white  poodle,  holding  an  open  wooden  box 
in  his  mouth.  In  this  box  were  a  few  pennies.  Billy 

181 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

walked  to  the  corner  and  dropped  a  nickel  into  the 
box,  although  she  knew  very  well  that  she  needed 
the  coin  as  much  as  the  man  could  need  it.  The 
fiddle  was  squeaking  away  "  Hear  me,  Norma."  Peo- 
ple were  hurrying  by,  not  listening  at  all. 

Billy  took  her  place  just  behind  the  man  and 
began  to  sing  the  Italian  words.  The  bow  wavered 
and  almost  stopped,  then  went  on  again  with  fervor, 
the  dark,  grimy  face  of  the  player  lighting  up  in 
that  piteous  way  in  which  a  blind  face  will  lighten. 

It  was  just  a  freak,  an  impulse  which  had  prompted 
the  girl,  and  for  the  moment  she  enjoyed  what  she 
was  doing. 

People  began  to  gather ;  pennies  and  silver  pieces 
clattered  into  the  box ;  the  poodle  wagged  his  tail 
excitedly,  but  he  kept  his  teeth  firmly  to  their 
duty. 

"  It's  awfully  kind  of  her  to  help  the  man  in  that 
way,"  said  a  lady  ;  "  and  oh,  can't  she  sing  !" 

Farther  along  the  street  was  another  corner,  and 
around  this  corner  whirled  a  bicycle  ridden  by  a 
girl.  She  whirled  up  without  slackening  her  speed 
in  the  least,  knocking  over  a  child  as  she  came. 
She  dismounted  so  that  she  was  behind  Billy ;  she 
stepped  up  quickly  and  instantly  joined  in  with  the 
singing,  her  voice  a  dashing  contralto,  with  the  un- 
mistakable quality  of  having  been  used  on  the  stage. 

Billy  stopped  and  faced  about.  The  other  singer 
stopped  also,  and  laughed  aloud.  Then  she  seized 
Billy  by  the  shoulders  and  kissed  her. 

The  people  who  had  gathered  looked  on  eagerly, 
and  some  applauded. 


XXIII 
BATHSHEBA  AGAIN 

"QTREET  scene  — daylight— blind  violinist  and 

^     his  dog  —  beautiful   lady  singing  like  —  like 
what  ?     Great  Scott  !  Billy,  what  do  you  sing 
like  now,  do  you  think  ?" 

The  speaker  slightly  shook  the  shoulders  she  held. 

As  for  Billy,  she  gasped  before  she  could  speak. 
Then  she  said,  with  tolerable  calmness  : 

"  Bashy  ?     Is  it  really  you,  Bashy  ?" 

"  Certainly.  And  I  should  advise  you,  Billy  Arm- 
strong, if  you  are  in  hiding  for  a  crime,  or  for  any 
purpose  whatsoever,  not  to  sing  in  the  street,  or 
anywhere  else  where  you  can  be  heard,  for  that 
matter." 

"  Let  us  go  away  from  here." 

Billy  glanced  at  the  people  who  had  gathered.  "  I 
thought  I  might  get  a  few  pennies  for  this  man," 
she  added. 

Bashy  opened  the  little  purse  attached  to  her  belt ; 
she  tipped  it  up  and  poured  the  change  into  her 
hand  and  then  into  the  dog's  box. 

The  man  had  taken  his  fiddle  from  his  shoulder 
and  his  hat  from  his  head.  He  was  speaking  rapidly 
and  brokenly. 

Billy  now  began  to  hate  the  people  who  were 
watching.  She  pulled  at  Bashy's  hand. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "I  can't  stand  this." 
183 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

"  Why,"  responded  the  other  girl,  "  this  is  our 
audience.  What  !"  as  she  lifted  her  wheel  and 
walked  beside  it — "you  are  not  staying  around 
here  ?"  She  sniffed  at  the  sewer-gas  as  she  spoke. 

Billy  made  no  reply  until  they  were  in  the  parlor; 
then  she  relinquished  her  companion's  hand  and  an- 
swered : 

"  I've  been  here  for  several  weeks.  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  ask  me  any  questions." 

Bashy  had  placed  her  wheel  in  the  hall ;  she  gave 
it  a  final  pat  and  left  it.  She  made  round  eyes  and 
a  round  mouth,  and  then  exclaimed: 

"  Not  ask  you  questions  ?  Then  you  want  me  to 
die;  for  I  shall  simply  die  if  I  can't  pour  out  inter- 
rogation points.  I  meet  Billy  Armstrong  on  a  cor- 
ner in  Roxbury — don't  they  call  this  Roxbury? — I 
lost  my  way  or  I  shouldn't  have  happened  into  this 
place.  She  is  singing  to  a  street-player's  fiddle ;  a 
little  dog  is  taking  pennies  for  her.  Enter  contral- 
to on  her  wheel — flings  herself  on  long-lost  friend. 
Then  long-lost  friend  coolly  tells  her  not  to  ask  any- 
thing. Impossible,  Billy." 

While  Bashy  talked  she  looked  curiously  at  her 
companion.  Having  become  somewhat  breathless, 
Bashy  was  silent  for  an  instant.  She  glanced  about 
the  room. 

"  Are  you  living  here  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  For  a  few  weeks,"  concisely. 

"You  needn't  think  you  can  play  that  game  on 
me;  I'm  going  to  know  about  you.  Evidently  your 
voice  has  come  back.  I  saw  in  the  papers  that  you 
had  lost  it.  When  I  read  that  I  said, '  Billy  will  be 
ready  to  kill  herself."  I  never  saw  anybody  so  in 
love  with  singing  as  you  were.  I  tried  to  hear  about 
you,  but  you  seemed  to  have  sunk  into  the  earth. 

184 


BATHSHEBA  AGAIN 

And  as  for  my  brother  Vane — Billy,  what  have  you 
done  with  Vane  ?  Have  you  eaten  him  and  buried 
his  bones  ?  For  months  I've  not  known  whether  he 
was  dead  or  alive.  He  never  did  write  to  me  much, 
and  lately  not  at  all.  I  always  did  think  you  would 
marry  him  again." 

"Bashy!" 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  If  you  loved  him  well  enough 
to  do  it  once — though  I  know  it  was  only  a  form, 
and  was  just  horrid  of  him — why  shouldn't  you  do 
it  again  now  he  is  free  ? — that  is,  if  he  can  stick  to  his 
fancy.  He  was  just  wild  about  the  whole  thing.  I 
didn't  know  but  that  he  would  go  and  kill  that  wife 
of  his — and  who  could  have  blamed  him  much  if 
he  had?" 

Bashy's  voice  ceased,  and  she  sat  gazing  intently 
at  the  girl  who  was  seated  opposite,  and  who  met 
the  gaze  with  a  kind  of  blinding  openness. 

She  leaned  forward. 

"  Billy,"  she  said,  sharply,  "  where  is  Vane  ?" 

"  I  think  he  is  in  a  town  in  New  Hampshire,  about 
four  hours'  ride  by  rail  from  here." 

She  spoke  as  if  she  were  mentioning  the  locality 
of  some  merchandise. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Because  I've  been  with  him." 

"You?  Oh,  Billy,  have  you  married  him  again, 
then?  You  know  you  did  love  him.  You  can't  deny 
that." 

Bashy  rose  from  her  seat  and  went  to  the  back  of 
Billy's  chair.  Standing  thus,  she  encircled  the  girl's 
neck  with  her  arm. 

"There  seems  to  be  a  mystery  about  you  now," 
she  went  on,  "and  I  just  dote  on  mysteries — until 
I've  solved  them.  Why  have  you  and  Vane  been 

185 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

in  a  New  Hampshire  town  about  four  hours'  ride  by 
rail  from  Boston  ?" 

Billy  moved  as  if  she  would  have  taken  the  arm 
from  her  neck.  Bathsheba  Hildreth  seemed  coarser 
to  her  now ;  even  her  face  had  become  less  refined, 
and  her  lips  had  grown  more  full.  She  had  an  ex- 
pression about  the  eyes  as  if  she  drank  more  wine 
than  was  good  for  her  —  and  in  the  old  days  she 
had  liked  champagne  too  well. 

"  My  mother  and  I  have  been  at  work  on  a  farm," 
she  answered,  somewhat  coldly,  "and  Mr.  Hildreth 
found  us  there.  He  came  to  work  also." 

"  U'hat !  Vane  at  work  on  a  farm  ?  Vane  soiling 
his  hands?  Does  he  milk?  Does  he  shovel  ma- 
nure ?  Ha  !  ha  !" 

Bashy  laughed  loudly.  But  she  stopped  suddenly, 
and  added,  with  grave  emphasis  :  "  I  told  you  he 
loved  you.  Can  you  resist  devotion  like  that  ? 
Poor  boy !  He  was  handicapped  from  the  time  of 
that  horrible  marriage." 

Billy  said  nothing.  She  sat  rather  rigidly  beneath 
the  embracing  arm.  She  smelled  cigarette  smoke  in 
Bashy's  breath.  A  flood  of  memories  of  the  time 
she  had  spent  with  Miss  Runciman  and  her  niece 
was  sweeping  over  her  mind.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
Miss  Runciman  she  would,  perhaps,  have  been  a  dif- 
ferent girl  ;  if  she  had  never  sung  she  would  have 
been  a  different  girl,  surely. 

"  As  for  me,"  went  on  Bashy,  "  I  shall  never  be 
anything,  anyway.  I've  gone  from  bad  to  worse.  I 
don't  think  they'll  have  me  sing  in  anything  much 
more.  I've  had  to  take  up  with  horrid  parts  last 
season.  My  voice  is  about  used  up.  You  remember 
how  I  used  to  flat  ?  Well,  I  can't  keep  to  the  pitch 
even  as  well  as  I  used  to  ;  and  there's  something 

1 86 


BATHSHEBA   AGAIN 

rusty  and  rough  that  I  can't  get  rid  of.  Perhaps 
you  noticed  it  when  I  was  singing  with  you  just 
now  ?  Did  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  hesitatingly.  Billy  began  to  be  sorry  for 
Bashy,  and  her  face  softened.  A  little  of  that  feel- 
ing of  gay,  reckless  comradeship  came  to  her. 

"  Oh,  that  is  too  bad  !"  cried  Bashy— "  too  bad." 

Her  voice  faltered  in  the  last  phrase. 

She  left  Billy  and  walked  across  the  bit  of  a  room. 
She  returned  and  stood  with  her  face  averted. 

"  But  that  isn't  the  worst  of  it.  If  I  can't  sing 
any  more — that  will  be  terrible  ;  but  I  could  at  least 
keep  my  self-respect.  I  guess  I'm  a  bad  lot,  Billy 
Armstrong.  I  wonder  why  seeing  you  should  arouse 
my  conscience  !  Arouse  my  conscience  !  Isn't  that 
a  fine  phrase?  Sounds  as  if  I  were  a  minister  of 
the  gospel,  doesn't  it  ?" 

Billy  tried  to  think  what  she  ought  to  say,  but 
nothing  came  to  her.  She  felt  a  vague  uneasiness  ; 
and  something  urged  her  to  be  kind  to  Bashy. 

In  the  silence,  the  new-comer  appeared  to  throw 
off  this  regret,  if  it  were  regret. 

"  Come,"  briskly  ;  "  tell  me  something  about  your- 
self. Here  am  I  blabbing  no  end.  What's  in  your 
face  ? — let  me  see,  you  little  close-mouthed  Yankee 
girl." 

Bashy  suddenly  took  Billy's  face  between  her 
hands,  and  gazed  at  it  steadily  as  if  she  were  probing 
it  for  some  secret. 

As  she  removed  her  hands  she  said,  positively  : 

"  Don't  try  to  deceive  me  ;  you  do  love  Vane." 

Billy  would  not  reply  ;  she  smiled  and  kept  silent. 
Her  heart  was  beating  fast. 

She  made  an  effort,  and  said,  lightly: 

"  You  still  smoke,  Bashy  ?" 
187 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

"Oh  yes;  I  couldn't  live  without  my  cigarettes. 
Oh,"  with  sudden  violence,  "  I  wish  I  could  get  away 
from  my  life — get  away — I  don't  care  where.  If  you 
are  going  to  be  wicked,  you  want  to  have  your  con- 
science all  seared  over,  so  that  you  needn't  have  fits 
of  remorse.  What  I  want  is  a  seared  conscience." 

"Are  you  really  so  wicked,  Bashy,  or  are  you 
merely  talking  ?" 

"  I'm  telling  the  truth." 

Bashy  sat  down  and  drew  off  the  loose  leather 
glove  from  her  left  hand  ;  she  had  previously  re- 
moved the  other  glove.  She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  That's  a  lovely  diamond,  isn't  it  ?"  she  asked. 

The  stone  flashed  in  the  eyes  looking  at  it. 

"  Yes,  beautiful." 

Billy  bent  over  it,  and  extended  her  finger  as  if  to 
touch  the  gem.  But  the  hand  was  snatched  away. 

"  It's  not  for  the  likes  of  you  to  touch  it,"  ex- 
claimed Bashy,  and  laughed.  "  You  don't  under- 
stand. Now  I  see  you  I'm  almost  ready  to  run  away 
from  everything." 

Billy  was  really  startled. 

"  Go  with  me,"  she  said,  impulsively.  "  I  sail  for 
England  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it." 

The  other  remained  silent.  She  began  to  walk 
about  the  room  again  ;  sometimes  she  paused  and 
looked  searchingly  at  Billy. 

"  I  shall  be  no  end  of  a  bore  to  you,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"  It's  more  likely  that  I  shall  be  a  bore  to  you," 
was  the  response.  "  You  see,"  with  a  hesitating 
frankness,  "  I'm  not  going  to  care  anything  more  for 
a  thing  in  this  world  except  music.  There's  not  a 
human  being  who  shall  have  a  thought  of  mine." 

1 88 


BATHSHEBA   AGAIN 

"  What !"  cried  Bashy,  "  not  your  mother  ?" 

Billy  flinched  visibly  at  this ;  then  she  seemed  to 
harden. 

"  Mother  has  always  disapproved  of  my  singing  ; 
she  doesn't  understand  it,  and  she  thinks  it's  wick- 
ed. I  have  decided  not  to  drag  her  into  my  evil  ways 
again.  She  doesn't  know  where  I  am;  she  doesn't 
know  that  I'm  going  to  England.  I  mean  to  begin 
now  without  a  fetter.  I  mean  to  be  nothing  but 
a  singer." 

Bashy  was  contemplating  the  girl  in  amazement 
— for  a  moment  she  appeared  to  forget  her  own 
troubles. 

"You're  wrong  there,"  she  said,  "you'll  come  to 
shipwreck." 

Billy  laughed. 

"  Yes,  you  will.  Good  heavens !  what  do  you  think 
I'd  give  if  I  had  a  mother.  You're  planning  to  be 
both  a  scamp  and  a  fool.  I  wonder  which  is  worse, 
you  or  I." 

There  was  no  response  to  this  remark.  Bashy 
went  on,  in  still  more  excitement: 

"  Now  I  couldn't  have  planned  to  treat  my  mother 
like  that.  You're  a  curious  girl,  you  are." 

"  But  it  '11  save  her  suffering  in  the  end ;  I've 
thought  it  all  out.  She'd  be  worrying  about  me — 
she  always  was  in  Paris.  By-and-by,  when  I  know 
how  I  succeed,  I'll  write  to  her  and  explain  every- 
thing. If  she  hadn't  a  home  and  —  and  friends  ; 
but  she  has.  I  have  my  own  way  to  make,  and  I'm 
going  to  make  it.  That's  enough  about  myself. 
Nothing  you  can  say  will  influence  me  in  the  least. 
I'm  going  to  be  a  singer,  and  I'm  going  to  be  nothing 
else." 

''You  are?  Well,  if  you  are  planning  to  be  a 
189 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

singing- machine,  you'll  make  one  grand  failure. 
What  the  public  wants  is  just  this  :  mechanical  ac- 
curacy, with  warm  heart's-blood  sprinkled  in.  If  you 
don't  give  that  great  ogre  both  the  accuracy  and  the 
blood  it  '11  hoot  you  off  the  stage.  I  know  it.  I 
never  did  give  it  accuracy,  but  I  had  something  that 
made  it  put  up  with  me  for  a  time  ;  my  day  is  over 
now.  Yes,  my  day  is  over.  Sometimes  I  think  if 
my  aunt  Leonora  Runciman  didn't  happen  to  be 
up  to  the  pious  dodge  just  now,  I'd  go  to  her  and 
cry,  'Save  me,  aunt,  save  me!' — like  opera,  you 
know.  But  I  know  what  she'd  do — she'd  offer  to 
pray  with  me  ;  and  I  certainly  couldn't  stand  being 
prayed  with  ;  Aunt  Nora  doing  the  praying  act,  and 
doing  it  sincerely,  would  be  too  much.  Well,  Billy, 
do  you  want  to  try  your  hand  at  the  saving  business? 
If  so,  here's  your  material  ready." 

Bashy  put  a  hand  on  each  hip  and  pranced  across 
the  room  singing  that  thing  beginning, 

"A  sinner  vile,  I  come  to  thee — 
A  sinner  vile,  I  swear  I  be —  " 

At  this  point  in  her  melody,  the  girl's  voice  broke. 
She  sat  down  in  the  nearest  chair  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  sobbing  aloud. 

Billy  did  not  know  what  to  do.  She  sat  for  an 
instant  staring  at  her  guest.  Had  Bathsheba  al- 
\vuys  been  as  coarse  as  she  seemed  now,  or — here 
she  broke  off  her  questioning  and  rose  to  go  to  the 
girl,  but  Bashy,  hearing  her  move,  without  taking 
her  hands  from  her  face,  said,  imperatively  : 

"  Don't  come  here  until  I've  told  you  something." 

Billy  paused  half-way  across  the  room.     She  felt 

a  temptation  to  go  out  at  that  open  door,  but  she 

190 


BATHSHEBA   AGAIN 

did  not  stir.  A  hot  breath  of  air  came  in  at  the 
window,  and  it  brought  faintly  from  a  neighboring 
street  the  strains  of  the  blind  man's  fiddle ;  it  was 
"  Hear  me,  Norma,"  again. 

"  You  said  you  were  going  to  England  ?"  Bashy 
spoke  behind  her  hands,  which  still  covered  her  face. 

"  Yes,"  wonderingly. 

"  In  that  Cunarder,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  was  planning  to  go  in  that  steamer." 

"  Then  you're  going  with  me,  as  I  proposed,  after 
all." 

Bashy  dropped  her  hands  and  raised  her  head 
boldly. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Fred  Lovell  ?"  she  asked. 

She  had  mentioned  the  name  of  a  man  notorious 
for  his  wealth  and  his  licentiousness. 

Billy  had  heard  of  him,  and  she  said  so. 

"Yes,  everybody  knows  of  Fred  Lovell.  I  had 
planned  to  go  with  him  on  that  steamer.  Quite  a 
good  joke  that  you  go,  too,  isn't  it  ?" 

And  now  Bashy  began  to  laugh  as  violently  as  she 
had  sobbed. 


XXIV 
AT   THE   WHARF 

WITH  the  suddenness  that  sometimes  charac- 
terized her  actions,  Bashy  stopped  laughing, 
pulled  the  diamond  from  her  finger,  and  flung 
it  into  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Did  he  give  you  that  ?" 

Billy  put  this  inquiry  in  a  cold  tone,  and  involun- 
tarily stepped  back  as  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,  he  gave  me  that.  Now  you're  going  to  play 
the  part  of  a  virtuous  woman,  are  you  ?  I  always 
did  think  a  virtuous  woman  could  do  more  evil  than 
a  dozen  smirched  people  with  the  mercy  of  God 
in  their  hearts.  Oh !"  her  voice  rising  to  a  sharp 
cry,  "  Heaven  deliver  me  from  a  virtuous  woman,  I 
say!" 

She  stamped  her  foot.  She  turned  towards  the 
door  and  had  passed  through  into  the  bit  of  a  hall, 
when  her  hand  was  caught  with  some  roughness. 
Billy's  face  was  red. 

"  Come  back,"  she  said.  She  spoke  hardly  above 
a  whisper,  but  there  was  authority  in  her  phrase, 
and  she  was  obeyed. 

Bashy  stood  before  her.  Billy  dropped  the  hand, 
but  she  slipped  her  arm  about  the  girl's  neck. 

"You'll  send  that  ring  to  that  man,  won't  you?" 

The  authority  was  all  gone  from  her  manner;  a 
great  gentleness  was  in  its  place. 

192 


AT  THE  WHARF 

"  I  might  as  well  keep  on  with  him.  He'll  be  sick 
of  me  soon  enough,"  defiantly. 

"  And  we'll  go  to  England  together.  Perhaps 
we'll  stay  together  after  we're  there." 

"  Oh,  you're  going  to  try  to  reform  me?"  bitterly. 

"  Bashy,  we'll  keep  together." 

Billy  leaned  forward  and  kissed  the  girl's  cheek. 

The  lines  in  that  face  quivered,  then  broke  up,  as 
the  features  became  convulsed  with  weeping.  She 
put  her  head  on  Billy's  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  you're  not  going  to  stand  off  and  preach  to 
me,  are  you  ?" 

Billy  smoothed  the  thick,  much-fluffed  hair.  She 
did  not  speak. 

"I'll  send  back  the  ring." 

"  Of  course." 

"And  I'll  go  with  you." 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  You  needn't  think  I'm  so  awfully  vile.  The  ring 
was  a  kind  of — well,  a  kind  of  an  engagement-ring  " 
— a  half-stifled  laugh — "  in  sign  that  I'd  go  with 
him,  you  know.  He's  been  after  me  for  a  couple  of 
months.  He  says  I'm  the  first  woman  he  ever  fell 
in  love  with  that  wasn't  namby-pamby ;  he  says  if 
he  wasn't  already  married,  he'd  marry  me.  He  says 
I'm  as  jolly  as  a  man  and  as  pretty  as  a  woman. 
Oh,  how  I  hate  myself ! — but  I  like  myself  too." 

By  this  time  Bashy  was  both  laughing  and  crying. 
She  had  withdrawn  from  her  companion ;  she  crossed 
the  room  and  picked  up  the  ring. 

"  It's  just  a  sparkler,  isn't  it  ?  Plenty  more  where 
that  came  from." 

She  approached  with  the  diamond  in  the  palm  of 
her  hand.  She  contemplated  Billy  in  silence  before 
she  said : 

N  193 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  that  some  things  are  much  worse 
than  others.  You,  yourself,  are  a  hard  wretch  to 
treat  your  mother  so.  I  couldn't  have  treated  my 
mother  in  that  way  for  all  the  world.  I  say,  now,  if 
you  save  me,  I'm  going  to  turn  about  and  save  you. 
Then  we'll  be  quits.  Isn't  that  fair?  If  you  take 
my  promise  to  break  with  that  man,  you  shall  write 
to  your  mother  this  very  day.  Is  it  a  bargain  ?" 

Billy  hesitated. 

"  I  write  to  her  almost  every  day — only  I  don't 
send  what  I  write,"  she  said.  "  It  isn't  that  I've  for- 
gotten her — it  isn't  that.  Something — " 

Here  she  paused  and  plainly  was  not  goini;  to  fin- 
ish her  sentence.  She  was  looking  over  Bashy's  head 
with  an  absent,  intent  gaze. 

"Much  good  it  does  her  to  have  you  write  that 
way." 

No  response  to  this.  Bashy  picked  up  her  jaunty 
bicycling  cap ;  she  put  it  on  her  head  at  an  angle. 
She  looked  down  at  the  long  russet  boots  she  wore, 
then  she  fastened  one  of  them  afresh.  Finally,  she 
stood  erect  and  cried  : 

"  Well,  you  are  a  hard  nut,  Wilhelmina  Armstrong. 
I  used  to  suspect  there  was  a  chunk  of  rock  in  you 
somewhere.  Good-l> 

For  the  second  time  she  walked  to  the  door,  and 
now  she  reached  the  sidewalk  before  any  attempt 
was  made  to  detain  her,  then  her  name  was  called 
sharply  and  she  returned  to  the  room. 

"Bathsheba,  this  is  ridiculous,"  said  Billy,  in  what 
the  other  girl  afterwards  described  as  a  high  moral 
tone.  "  You  don't  understand  me  or  my  circum- 
stanr 

"  Nor  you  me." 

"  You  are  planning  a  wicked,  disgraceful  thing." 
194 


AT   THE  WHARF 

"So  are  you." 

Billy  flushed. 

"  Do  you  compare  yourself  with  me  ?" 

"  Come  now,  I  like  that  !" 

"  Bashy  !" 

"  Billy  !" 

"  Anyway,  I  sha'n't  let  you  go  with  that  man.  Oh, 
Bashy  !"  her  voice  suddenly  beginning  to  tremble, 
"  you  don't  know — I'm  not  hard  ;  I'm  the  softest- 
hearted  creature  in  the  world.  We'll  go  on  that 
Cunarder,  and  I'll  send  a  letter  to  mother  the  day 
we  start." 

"  All  right.  Now  I'll  wheel  away  from  love  and 
thee  ;  but  I'll  return  to  love  and  thee." 

"  No,  you're  not  going.  I  don't  trust  you  ;  or  if 
you  do  go,  I  shall  bear  you  company.  Perhaps  you'll 
meet  that  man,  and  he'll  persuade  you — " 

"  Pshaw  J  I'm  thankful  to  be  out  of  it.  If  I  loved 
him  'twould  be  a  different  thing.  Do  you  think  I'm 
going  to  leave  all  my  frocks  behind  ?  You  may  come 
with  me,  though." 

So  Bashy  left  her  wheel,  and  the  two  girls  went  to 
the  South  End  boarding-house  where  Bashy  was 
stopping,  Billy  wondering  all  the  way  if  her  com- 
panion had  really  always  been  like  this.  She  shrank 
somewhat  when  she  looked  at  her,  but  she  kept  to 
her  resolution,  and  would  not  part  with  her.  She 
helped  her  pack  her  trunk,  and  the  two  went  in  a 
carriage  back  to  Roxbury  with  it. 

When  they  returned  Bashy  established  herself  in  a 
chair  in  her  friend's  room  and  put  her  feet  on  an- 
other chair.  She  drew  her  case  of  cigarettes  from 
her  jacket  pocket — a  dainty  case  it  was — and  held  it 
towards  Billy. 

"Smoke?" 

195 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

"  No." 

"You'd  better— finest  Turkish,  with  just  a  dash  of 
opium — make  life  endurable.  Take  one." 

"  No." 

"  What  a  devilish  rigid  little  Puritan  it  is  !"  strik- 
ing a  match  on  the  sole  of  her  boot.  "  But  you  al- 
ways were.  How  you  did  look  when  you  first  saw 
wine!  And  yet  you're  up  to  things,  too" — whifi", 
whiff.  "  I  hope  this  smoke  isn't  disagreeable  to  you, 
for  I've  got  to  puff  for  a  while  ;  formed  the  habit, 
you  see." 

Bashy  half  shut  her  eyes  as  she  expelled  the  blue 
cloud  through  her  nostrils.  The  one  window  was 
opened  high.  There  was  barely  room  for  the  bed 
and  the  two  occupants.  Billy  had  seated  herself  on 
the  side  of  the  bed.  She  felt  half  sick  with  pity,  and 
that  something  which  repulsed  her  so  strongly  ;  and 
she  was  continually  asking  herself:  "What  am  I? 
Why  should  I  feel  myself  better  than  any  one  ?" 

The  temptation  to  let  the  girl  go  was  strong,  but 
she  would  not  yield  to  it. 

Bashy  was  watching  her.  Suddenly  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Mighty  fine  feeling,  isn't  it?" 

"  What  feeling  ?" 

"  Why, '  I'm  better  than  thou.'  It  must  set  one  up 
to  feel  like  that.  Never  knew  what  it  was." 

Billy  held  herself  quietly  in  her  place,  though  re- 
sentment tingled  through  her. 

"  Don't  make  me  angry,"  she  said,  at  last. 

Bashy  leaned  forward  and  flung  the  remnant  of 
her  cigarette  from  the  window. 

"  Fact  is,  Wilhelmina,"  she  said,  emphatically,  " you 
arc  better  than  I  am.  But  I'm  going  to  be  good 
now ;  kick  me  out  if  I'm  not." 

196 


AT  THE   WHARF 

Billy  never  quite  knew  how  the  time  passed  be- 
tween them  and  the  hour  of  sailing.  She  was  con- 
scious of  a  growing  excitement.  She  would  not 
allow  Bashy  out  of  her  sight ;  all  at  once  it  seemed 
to  her  as  if  she  were  responsible  for  the  salvation  of 
her  old  acquaintance. 

The  two  kept  their  agreement  with  each  other. 
At  the  very  last  moment  Billy  mailed  this  note  to 
her  mother  : 

"  I  hope  you'll  forgive  me.  I  love  you  just  the  same,  but 
there's  a  lump  of  ice  in  my  heart.  You  needn't  worry  one 
bit  about  me.  I'm  going  to  be  a  singer.  After  a  while  I'll 
write  to  you  again.  I  hope  Mr.  Meloon  is  gaining.  I  sup- 
pose he  condemns  me,  but  I  can't  help  that.  Don't  forget 
that  I  love  you  just  the  same." 

This  note  she  dropped  in  a  box  on  her  way  to  the 
wharf.  She  had  insisted  that  Bashy  should  write 
to  "  that  man  " — this  was  what  she  called  Mr.  Lovell ; 
but  the  girl  said  she  couldn't ;  she  didn't  know  where 
he  was ;  he  had  gone  to  New  York,  and  the  agree- 
ment was  that  he  was  to  come  back  in  time  for  the 
sailing  of  that  steamer;  she  was  to  go  aboard;  they 
were  to  meet  there.  At  this  information  Billy  very 
nearly  drew  back  from  her  resolution.  The  whole 
affair  seemed  to  her  so  low,  so  intolerably  vulgar, 
aside  from  its  evil. 

She  waited  ;  what  else  was  there  for  her  to  do  ? — 
and  it  was  not  long  to  wait.  She  had  received  a 
hurried  epistle  from  Boldrea ;  he  hoped  she  was 
ready.  It  grieved  him  to  state  that  madame  had 
been  indisposed  or  she  would  have  called  again  upon 
Miss  Armstrong.  Madame  had  partaken  too  freely 
of  fat  liver  pie,  and  was  suffering  from  indigestion. 
At  this  Billy  curled  an  intolerant  lip,  since  her 

197 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

shortcomings  did  not  lie  in  the  direction  of  pdte  de 
foie  gras. 

As  the  hour  approached  she  grew  more  and  more 
excited.  The  two  agreed  to  go  aboard  very  early. 
Billy  had  an  acute  fear  that  Bashy  would  fail  to 
keep  her  word,  she  had  such  a  dare-devil,  inconse- 
quent way  with  her.  The  more  she  doubted,  the 
more  resolved  she  was  to  succeed ;  she  shuddered 
away  from  the  thought  of  what  might  become  of  the 
girl ;  and  Billy  liked  to  tell  herself  that  she  had  been 
sent  to  do  this  service — the  thought  was  a  sop  to 
her  conscience. 

It  was  Boldrea  who  had  secured  the  inferior  room 
into  which  Billy  retreated  as  soon  as  she  came  on 
board.  She  sat  down  dismally  in  the  one  chair  and 
smelled  the  salt  water,  and  the  tar,  and  the  coal-gas 
which  one  can  generally  smell  before  the  boat  gets 
out  where  the  wind  sweeps  away  odors.  She  was  so 
desolate  that  she  could  have  rushed  back  to  the 
wharf  and  started  to  walk  to  the  Meloon  farm. 
The  very  thought  of  that  breezy  stretch  of  country, 
with  the  glory  and  purity  of  God's  blue  sky  above 
it,  made  her  throat  contract  as  if  she  would  suffo- 
cate. 

"Am  I  still  such  a  weak  creature?"  she  asked 
herself. 

And  very  likely  Bathsheba  would  do  some  strange 
thing.  That  man  would  be  coming. 

At  this  thought  Billy's  anxious  fear  grew  so  great 
that  she  went  on  deck.  The  sun  was  beating  down 
mercilessly;  the  planks  of  the  wharf  emitted  small 
bubbling  patches  of  moisture  ;  there  was  not  a  cloud 
in  the  sky.  The  faces  of  the  men  trundling  baggage 
were  purple  and  wet ;  the  horses  sweat  piteously  ;  a 
hot  land  wind  was  blowing  softly.  The  loads  of 

198 


AT  THE  WHARF 

goods  and  the  carriages  with  passengers  came  faster 
and  faster  ;  people  bearing  great  bunches  of  flowers 
for  the  state-rooms  of  their  friends  were  coming  up 
the  gangway.  But  Billy  did  not  know  that  she 
noticed  all  this. 

In  a  few  moments  after  she  had  opened  her  um- 
brella towards  the  sun,  she  saw  Bashy  hurry  across 
the  plank  to  the  wharf.  Billy  leaned  on  the  rail  and 
watched  her.  A  carriage  had  just  dashed  up,  and 
a  tall  man  with  floating  Dundreary  whiskers  jumped 
out.  He  lifted  his  hat  jauntily  to  Bashy  and  ex- 
tended his  left  hand  to  her.  Billy  was  quite  near 
them,  and  she  could  see  the  stranger's  face  change 
soon  from  easy  complacence  to  anger. 

"  That  is  Fred  Lovell,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  and 
if  he  is  merely  angry,  Bashy  will  resist." 

The  two  talked  hurriedly.  Meanwhile  a  servant 
swung  off  a  small  trunk  from  the  carriage  and  took 
it  up  the  gangway.  Billy  heard  him  inquire  for  Mr. 
Lovell's  state-room,  and  pass  on  with  his  burden. 
She  gazed  sharply  at  the  man's  face;  she  could  see 
only  the  back  of  Bashy's  head  ;  she  saw  nothing  else 
save  those  two,  and  as  they  walked  farther  along  the 
wharf,  still  keeping  near  the  edge,  she  turned  that 
she  might  not  lose  sight  of  them. 

She  saw  Lovell's  face  change  and  soften  ;  she  saw 
him  take  his  companion's  hand  ;  he  was  pleading 
with  her  now,  and  something  in  Bashy's  attitude, 
something  in  her  very  shoulders,  seemed  to  hint  that 
she  was  yielding. 

Billy's  umbrella  dropped  unheeded  over  the  side, 
catching  between  boat  and  wharf.  She  grasped  the 
rail  and  leaned  far  forward. 

"  Bashy ! "  she  cried, "  Bashy !  remember  your  prom- 
ise. Come,  I'm  waiting  for  you." 

199 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

Having  said  this,  she  felt  that  she  dared  not  wait 
another  instant.  She  turned  and  hurried  to  the 
gangway,  thinking  of  nothing  but  the  girl  whom  she 
must  save. 

At  the  end  of  the  plank  she  was  met  by  a  tall  man 
on  crutches,  moving  slowly,  but  with  a  decided  as- 
pect of  determination. 


XXV 
LOTOS   RETURNS 

BILLY  stopped  as  if  she  had  been  grasped  by  a 
hand.  Meloon,  very  pale  and  gaunt,  smiled  a 
little  as  he  saw  the  girl.  Then  he  said  : 

"I  thought  I  should  find  you." 

Billy  remembered  her  note  to  her  mother,  and 
that  it  had  been  posted  only  a  few  hours  ago. 

"  You  were  looking  for  me  ?"  she  responded, 
feebly. 

"  Yes  ;  I've  been  looking  for  you  for  ten  days.  It's 
a  good  thing  to  find  what  you  seek."  He  paused, 
gazing  at  her.  "And  now,"  he  added,  "you  will  go 
back  with  me — that  is,  if  you  think  you've  already 
been  wicked  enough,"  sternly. 

Billy  stood  with  her  hands  twisted  together,  her 
eyes  lowered,  a  red  spot  on  each  cheek. 

"  Mother — "  she  began ;  but  she  could  not  go  on. 

"  Your  mother  has  been  nearly  insane.  I  did  not 
dream  that  you  were  so  hard-hearted." 

"You  tell  her,"  began  Billy,  hurriedly — "tell  her 
that  I'm  well ;  and  that  I've  written  to  her.  I'm 
going  to  sing — she  hates  that — she  is  unhappy  with 
me  when  I'm  trying  to  sing.  I  wouldn't  drag  her 
into  that  again.  And  she  has  a  home — she  can  work 
for  you — I'm  going — the  boat  will  start  soon.  Don't 
think  I'm  ungrateful,  or  so  bad,  please,  Mr.  Meloon. 
I  can't  bear  to  have  you  think  I'm  bad.  Everything 

201 


THE   ME LOON    FARM 

has  driven  me  on.     You  don't  understand — nobody 
understands.     There's  only  one  thing  for  me  to  do- 
to  sing.     If  I  live  I'm  going  to  sin^.     I  wish  you'd 
g<>  away  now,  Mr.  Mrl<>on." 

She  spoke  thickly,  her  words  at  last  becoming  so 
indistinct  that  they  were  hardly  like  words. 

The  two  had  drawn  a  few  yards  aside  from  the 
plank,  but  they  were  jostled  by  the  hurrying  people. 
Now  she  raised  her  eyes  to  her  companion. 

"  Are  you  well,  Mr.  Meloon  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Certainly.     Billy,  you  are  to  go  back  with  me." 

"  No — no.     Nothing  could  make  me  go  back." 

"  Is  my  home  such  a  horrible  place  as  that  ?" 

He  put  the  question  in  the  hurried  way  in  which 
they  were  both  obliged  to  speak  ;  and  he  immediate- 
ly continued :  "  Of  course,  I  know  it  is  dull  for  you  ; 
but  your  mother — " 

"Oh,  where  is  Bashy?"  interrupted  Billy.  "I  had 
forgotten  her.  How  could  I  forget  her  ?" 

She  ran  past  Meloon,  who  swung  round  on  his 
crutches  to  watch  her,  his  brows  drawing  together 
as  he  did  so. 

His  glance  instantly  took  in  the  air  and  manner 
of  Bathsheba  Hildreth,  and  he  despised  her  far  more, 
perhaps,  than  was  just.  He  saw  Billy  put  her  arm 
about  the  dashing  girl,  who  wore  her  hat  on  one 
side,  and  who  had  a  fast  look.  But  he  could  not 
hear  what  was  said. 

Lovell  involuntarily  retreated  a  step,  and  glanced 
wrathfully  at  this  intruder.  Then  his  glance  changed 
somewhat.  He  was  one  of  those  insufferable  beasts 
of  men  whom  one  sees  in  such  numbers  in  all  large 
cities,  just  out  of  the  bath,  finely  groomed,  well 
dressed,  filthily  eying  every  attractive  young  wom- 
an;  thinking  vile  things  of  all  women;  and  yet  hav- 

202 


LOTOS   RETURNS 

ing  a  kind  of  way  with  him,  a  sort  of  animal  good- 
nature and  generosity,  if  he  isn't  crossed. 

"  Come,"  said  Billy,  "there's  only  a  moment  more." 

Lovell  tool:  off  his  hat  with  a  grace. 

"  Friend  of  yours,  Miss  Hildreth  ?  Pray  present 
me." 

"  No,"  said  Billy,  "  you  need  not  present  him, 
Bashy.  Come." 

"  Gad  !"  exclaimed  the  man.     "  This  is  a  go !" 

Bashy  laughed  loudly  ;  then  she  replied  : 

"No,  Mr.  Lovell,  that's  just  what  it  isn't — a  go. 
Good-bye,  ta — ta." 

She  dropped  a  courtesy;  then,  clutching  her  friend's 
hand,  she  ran,  and  made  Billy  run,  till  they  came  to 
the  gangway.  Meloon  was  standing  in  the  same  place. 
As  she  went  by  him  Billy  met  his  eyes.  She  dropped 
the  hand  and  gave  Bashy  a  little  push  up  the  plank. 

"Don't  look  so,  please,"  she  said;  "I'm  taking  her 
away  from  all  that.  Don't  y6u  see?  Don't  you 
understand?" 

There  was  time  for  no  more.  The  warning  had  been 
given.  Billy  hastened  away.  The  people  who  had  been 
saying  adieux  hurried  to  the  wharf.  The  great  ship 
began  to  throb  and  heave,  and  churn  the  water 
somewhere  down  in  her  depths  ;  the  wharf  receded, 
at  first  it  seemed  but  a  few  inches,  then  a  chasm 
came  between  it  and  the  boat. 

Billy  and  Bashy  stood  together,  hand  in  hand,  near 
the  bows.  Lovell  had  sworn  a  good  many  oaths,  but 
he  had  not  gone  on  board.  He  stepped  into  his  car- 
riage and  cursed  at  the  servant  who  ventured  to 
ask,  "Where  to?"  Then  he  was  driven  out  of  sight, 
thinking  as  much  of  the  face  of  that  other  girl  as  of 
Bathsheba  Hildreth's. 

As  for  Meloon,  he  leaned  on  his  crutches  there, 
203 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

watching  the  steamer  out.     He  waved  his  hat  at  the 
slender  figure  at  a  particular  place  near  the  rail. 

At  last  he  went  slowly  along  the  wharf  until  he 
came  to  a  carriage  that  was  waiting  for  him.  Then, 
at  the  door,  he  turned  back  to  a  telegraph-office  close 
by.  He  sent  this  message  to  Mrs.  Armstrong  : 

"  Found.     She  starts  for  Liverpool  to-day." 

He  sat  down  in  the  carriage  and  drew  his  crutches 
up  beside  him.  He  was  thinking  that  he  was  not 
only  old,  but  lame. 

He  ordered  himself  to  be  driven  to  the  station. 
He  would  go  home  as  soon  as  possible. 

"There's  Trooper  —  he'll  be  glad  to  see  me.  I 
ought  to  be  happy  with  Trooper." 

So  he  went  home.  A  little  wild-eyed  woman  came 
running  down  the  lane  to  meet  him.  Seeing  her,  he 
dismissed  the  public  carriage  he  had  hired  to  bring 
him  and  came  forward  on  foot.  Mrs.  Armstrong  did 
not  speak  at  first ;  %he  made  an  attempt,  but  her 
poor,  quivering  lips  refused  to  obey  her;  so  she  wait- 
ed, walking  beside  the  man,  who  hurriedly  asked  : 

"  Did  they  bring  my  telegram  ?" 

"  No— no." 

"Oh,  well,  they'll  get  it  here  in  a  week  or  two. 
But  it's  all  right,  Serissa — that  is,  I  rather  think  it's 
all  right." 

"You've  seen  her?" 

"  Yes — yes.    She  was  just  embarking." 

Meloon  was  thinking  that  his  news  was  very  bare 
indeed. 

"  Embarking?" 

"  Yes — to  Liverpool,  you  know." 

The  woman  gave  a  cry,  and  then  plainly  tried  to 
compose  herself. 

"  Was  Vane  Hildreth  with  her  ?" 
204 


LOTOS   RETURNS 

"  Well,  he  wasn't  visible.  Possibly  his  search 
hasn't  been  as  successful  as  mine." 

"  Depend  upon  it,  he  was  there.  He'd  be  sure  to 
find  her.  He  loves  her,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  am  aware  of  that  fact.  He  told  me  him- 
self." 

Meloon  was  going  beyond  the  woman  beside  him, 
out  towards  the  hills  of  the  sheep  pasture. 

"  Was  she  alone,  then  ?" 

"  No  ;  there  was  a  young  woman  with  her,  dashing, 
impudent,  with  big  eyes  that  she  used  ;  dressed  as 
nearly  like  a  man  as  the  law  allows — damn  her  !" 

"  That  must  have  been  Bashy." 

"Bashy?  Good  name  for  her.  Who  is  she,  any- 
way ?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  She  is  Vane's  sister.  Oh, 
dear  !  Oh,  dear  !" 

Here  Mrs.  Armstrong  lost  all  pretence  of  control 
and  fell  to  sobbing  and  wringing  her  hands,  crying 
out  that  since  Meloon  had  seen  Miny  and  had  not 
brought  her  back  he  was  responsible  for  everything 
that  happened  to  her  forever  after. 

Meloon  set  his  mouth  and  bore  this  through  all 
the  slow  moments  that  it  required  to  reach  the 
house. 

With  his  hand  on  the  door  he  turned  and  said, 
huskily : 

"  Now,  Serissa,  stop  this.  One  more  word  and  I 
shall  say  something  terrible,  and  despise  myself  ever 
after.  Of  course  I  don't  know  how  you  feel,  since 
I'm  not  Billy's  mother.  But  I  couldn't  bring  the 
girl  back  unless  I  had  seized  and  flung  her  into  the 
carriage  " — here  he  paused — "  and  an  old  fellow  on 
crutches  is  past  kidnapping  girls.  She  said  she  was 
going  to  sing.  You've  no  reason  to  doubt  her,  have 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

you  ?  If  Hildreth  is  with  her,  we  can't  help  that. 
We  can't  help  anything.  As  for  me,  I'm  going  to 
see  about  harvesting.  And  you,  Serissa,  stay  here 
and  work — work  is  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world. 
Where's  Trooper?" 

"  I  shut  him  in  your  bedroom — he's  taken  to  howl- 
ing so  since  you've  been  away." 

"Howling?   Bright  dog.   I'll  go  and  howl  with  him." 

Meloon  found  Trooper  with  his  nose  at  the  crack 
between  the  door  and  the  casing,  his  tail  wagging, 
his  whole  body  in  a  quiver  of  joyful  expectancy. 

Man  and  dog  remained  secluded  for  some  time, 
and  when  they  emerged  Meloon  seemed  to  have 
aged  several  years.  He  went  out  into  the  field  to  see 
what  his  hired  men  were  doing,  and  Trooper  walked 
contentedly  at  his  heels. 

That  evening,  when  he  and  his  housekeeper  were 
in  the  sitting-room,  with  doors  and  windows  open, 
the  warm  air  full  of  the  piping  of  insects,  she  began 
to  bemoan  the  going  of  her  child,  her  treble  com- 
plaining rising  above  all  the  night  sounds. 

Meloon  listened  for  a  long  time,  not  speaking. 
He  had  taken  his  violin,  but  his  hand,  which  held 
the  bow,  had  fallen  to  his  side.  There  was  no  lamp 
in  the  room,  only  a  fragrant  dusk,  with  the  moon- 
light outside. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  paused  with  a  half  sob. 

"  Are  you  through  ?"  suddenly  asked  Meloon.  He 
moved  in  his  chair,  and  the  violin  on  his  knees 
twanged  faintly. 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  in  surprise. 

"  I  thought  I  wouldn't  stop  you  tocTsoon.  If  you 
have  anything  more  to  say  just  now,  speak  it." 

"Why  —  why  —  I  don't  understand.  Shouldn't  I 
mourn  for  my  child  ?" 

206 


LOTOS   RETURNS 

"Certainly;  mourn  all  you  please;  but  she  isn't 
dead.  She  may  return — to  you.  As  for  me  I  shall 
probably  never  see  her  again.  It  isn't  likely  that 
she'll  come  back  to  the  Meloon  farm.  What  I 
wanted  to  say  is  this — are  you  listening,  Serissa  ?" 

"  Yes — but  you  frighten  me,  Rawdon.  What  do 
you  mean  ?" 

"  That  you  are  not  to  speak  of  your  daughter  to 
me  again.  Do  you  hear  ?  I  want  to  know  nothing 
more  about  her — nothing.  If  you  have  a  letter 
from  her,  don't  mention  it." 

"  Why,  I  didn't  know  you  disliked  her  so.  I  don't 
think  you  need  to  hate  her,  quite." 

And  then  the  mother  fell  into  voluble  sentences 
in  defence  of  her  daughter;  in  manner  she  was 
much  like  a  hen  that  fluffs  up  and  squawks  when 
the  shadow  of  a  hawk  darkens  the  sky. 

Meloon's  dim  shape  in  the  big  chair  by  the  win- 
dow did  not  move ;  you  would  have  said  that  he  did 
not  hear  a  word.  But  when  Mrs.  Armstrong  had 
spent  her  breath,  he  said  : 

"  You  understand  —  after  to  -  night  Wilhelmina 
Armstrong  is  not  to  be  mentioned  before  me." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  fell  silent,  putting  her  handker- 
chief up  to  her  face,  her  shoulders  rising  and  falling. 

Meloon  raised  his  violin  to  his  shoulder  and  drew 
his  bow  across  the  strings.  Perhaps  the  sound  com- 
forted him.  Presently  he  sang  in  a  half-tone  as  he 
played  : 

"  The  hawk  unto  the  open  sky, 
The  red  deer  to  the  wold ; 
The  Romany  lass  for  the  Romany  lad, 
As  in  the  days  of  old." 

His  voice  had  not  risen  much  above  a  whisper. 
207 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

Before  he  had  pronounced  the  last  word  the  great 
dog  lying  at  his  feet  asleep  started  up  growling. 
The  two  listened,  but  they  heard  nothing.  Meloon 
raised  his  bow  again,  but  before  it  touched  the 
strings  Trooper  growled  again ;  and  now  they  both 
heard  a  quick  scratching  at  the  screen  door  and  a 
whining. 

Meloon  sprang  up,  forgetting  his  lameness.  He 
hardly  knew  how  he  reached  the  screen ;  he  flung  it 
back  and  a  dark  shape  sprang  at  him. 

"It's  Lotos,"  said  Meloon.  Mrs.  Armstrong  kin- 
dled a  lamp. 

There  was  Lotos  bedraggled  with  water  and  dust, 
his  chest  wet  with  the  droppings  from  his  lolling 
tongue.  He  stood  now  panting  so  that  his  swelling 
sides  seemed  ready  to  burst. 

"  Oh,  he's  mad  !"  cried  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

"He's  only  tired." 

The  dog  now  threw  himself  on  his  side  on  the  floor, 
his  tongue  falling  out  on  the  carpet ;  unable  to  lie 
still,  he  rose  to  His  haunches  and  sat  heaving  there, 
then  took  a  few  steps.  Trooper  stood  glumly  be- 
hind his  master. 

Meloon  hobbled  into  the  kitchen  and  came  back 
with  a  dish  of  water,  which  he  set  down  before  the 
dog.  Lotos  drank  and  drank,  looked  up,  slobbering 
and  wagging  his  tail,  then  drank  again. 

Meloon  leaned  over  and  unfastened  a  tag  from 
the  collar  ;  he  read  it ;  it  was  merely  the  address 
to  him  at  the  Meloon  farm,  with  the  name  of  the 
express  by  which  the  animal  had  been  forwarded. 
But  there  was  something  else  on  the  collar — a  small 
package  fastened  in  strong  gray  cloth.  This  Meloon 
also  removed  and  extended  it  towards  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong. 

208 


LOTOS   RETURNS 

By  this  time  Lotos  was  able  to  lie  down  and  re- 
main in  that  position. 

Meloon  went  back  to  his  chair  and  Trooper  went 
with  him.  He  saw  his  companion  unfasten  the 
package  and  draw  a  paper  from  it,  glance  at  it,  then 
hold  it  towards  him,  saying  : 

"  It  ain't  for  me." 

Meloon,  therefore,  read  what  was  on  the  paper : 

"  DEAR  MR.  MELOON, — At  the  last  moment  it  seems  as  if 
I  could  not  take  my  dear  dog.  I  send  him  to  you.  I  know 
you  will  take  care  of  him.  If  I  live  I  shall  come  for  him — 
and  shall  thank  you.  Tell  mother  that  though  I  seem  hard, 
my  heart  is  breaking." 

Billy  had  not  signed  this. 

After  a  moment  Meloon  passed  the  note  to  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  who  read  it,  and  then  exclaimed : 

"  I  declare,  that's  just  the  way  Vane  sent  Lotos 
to  Miny !" 

Meloon  reached  forward,  took  the  bit  of  paper,  and 
thrust  it  into  his  vest  pocket. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  expressman  from  the 
village  came  to  the  farm.  He  said  the  dog  had  got 
away  when  he  was  taking  him  from  the  car  at  the 
station,  and  had  dashed  like  mad  across  the  field. 
He  was  thankful  to  be  rid  of  him. 


XXVI 
HILDRETII   ALSO  RETURNS 

THE  days  went  on  apace  at  the  farm,  hot,  fra- 
grant days  when  the  earth  panted  and  the  corn 
grew  so  fast  that  in  walking  between  rows  of  it 
you  might  almost  see  the  ears  as  they  flung  out  their 
silky  tassels ;  and  if  you  drew  one  of  the  long,  cool 
-;  through  your  hand  in  the  morning,  at  night 
you  would  fancy  that  it  was  longer  and  broader. 
The  crows  perched  for  hours  in  the  tops  of  the  pines 
on  the  hills,  watching  that  corn-field,  and  sometimes 
they  sent  a  deputation  down  to  sample  the  ears. 
These  deputies  ripped  open  the  tender  sheaths  and 
plunged  their  ruthless  bills  into  the  small,  milky 
kernels;  then  left  them  to  report  that  the  corn  wasn't 
ready. 

Meloon  walked  with  a  cane ;  he  was  walking  a 
good  deal.  He  came  out  frequently  to  this  corn- 
field with  his  gun.  He  was  followed  now  by  t\\<> 
dogs  instead  of  one.  Trooper  calmly  and  loftily 
tolerated  Lotos. 

Though  Meloon  took  a  gun  with  which  to  shoot 
crows,  he  never  shot  one  ;  he  never  even  tried  to 
shoot  one.  He  used  to  sit  down  in  the  shade  of  a 
pine-tree  with  the  dogs  at  his  feet.  After  a  time  a 
crow  would  come  floating  along  within  splendid  aim. 
Once  or  twice  the  man  raised  his  gun  to  his  shoul- 
der, but  he  dropped  it  without  pulling  the  trigger. 


HILDRETH   ALSO   RETURNS 

Then  he  would  stroke  down  the  ends  of  his  great 
mustache,  and  smile  under  it. 

"  Let  'em  live — likely  as  not  they  like  to  live,"  he 
said,  aloud.  He  glanced  about,  and  added  :  "  And  it 
is  a  bonny  world  to  live  in  ;  there's  something  in 
the  mere  drawing  of  one's  breath" — he  inflated  his 
lungs. 

He  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  talking  to  himself — 
"  like  other  old  men,"  he  explained  in  his  monologue. 
But  he  was  barely  forty-five.  He  knew  very  well, 
however,  what  youth  thinks  of  forty  years.  One 
might  as  well  be  sixty,  or  dead,  as  to  be  forty  years 
old.  Then  he  would  tug  again  at  that  grizzled  mus- 
tache. 

He  had  always  read  poetry  a  good  deal,  but  now 
he  read  it  more  than  ever — not  mere  verse,  or  mere 
rhyme,  but  poetry. 

"  There's  no  fool  so  sentimental  as  an  old  fool,"  he 
used  to  say,  in  these  lonely  excursions  about  the 
farm. 

To  his  great  surprise  he  was  not  unhappy — the  con- 
trary, rather,  in  a  mild  way,  suitable,  as  he  thought, 
to  an  elderly  person,  Somehow  life  seemed  to  clar- 
ify for  him  ;  he  couldn't  explain,  but  he  could  feel 
and  know. 

But  he  could  not  hear  Mrs.  Armstrong  talk  of  her 
daughter.  Of  course,  at  first,  she  was  continually 
beginning  something  about  Wilhelmina.  Meloon 
used  to  get  up  and  leave  the  room.  If  it  were  at  the 
table  he  never  finished  that  meal ;  if  it  were  in  the 
evening  he  did  not  return. 

So,  perforce,  his  housekeeper  learned  her  lesson. 

In  due  course  a  letter  came  from  over  the  water. 
Meloon  brought  it  from  the  post-office,  and  handed 
it  to  Mrs.  Armstrong,  whose  hand  trembled  as  she 

211 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

took  it.  By  that  time  she  knew  she  must  not  speak 
of  it,  that  Meloon  had  really  meant  it  when  he  had 
said  he  would  not  hear  a  word  about  Billy.  How  he 
must  dislike  her ! 

By  harvesting  time  Meloon  could  help  somewhat 
in  the  lighter  work.  The  two  dogs  were  always  with 
him.  If  occasionally  Lotos  lingered,  he  heard  a 
cheery  whistle  and  trotted  to  obey. 

One  day  Meloon  was  in  the  corn-field  with  his  men. 
They  were  flinging  the  ears  into  a  long  cart.  It  was 
a  clear,  warm  fall  day.  Meloon  straightened  himself 
to  look  off  towards  the  hills.  He  saw  a  man  coming 
swiftly  down  the  slope  from  the  sheep  pasture;  two 
or  three  sheep  were  straggling  along  behind  him. 

"That's  Hildreth,"  he  thought,  watching;  and  he 
unconsciously  stiffened  in  his  attitude  among  the 
clipped  stalks.  "  What's  he  over  here  for  ?  I  thought 
when  he  went  to  find  Billy  that  he  was  through 
with  this  part  of  the  world." 

Hildreth  came  on  rapidly.  Presently  he  beckoned 
to  Meloon  to  join  him  at  the  fence  that  surrounded 
the  corn-field. 

"I  didn't  want  those  men  to  hear  me,"  he  said, 
abruptly,  when  the  other  had  come  near.  He  grasped 
the  top  rail  of  the  fence  as  if  to  lean  on  it.  He  looked 
worn.  He  glanced  about  him. 

"  Nothing  changes  here,"  he  said,  with  bitterness. 

"Did  you  expect  there'd  been  an  earthquake  be- 
cause a  girl  had  chosen  to  run  away  ?"  responded 
Meloon.  He  saw  immediately  that  this  man  had 
not  been  successful  in  his  search,  and  he  was  greatly 
surprised. 

"  Yes,"  with  some  fierceness ;  "  there  ought  to  be 
earthquakes  and  tempests  all  over  the  world.  I 
couldn't  find  her." 

212 


HILDRETH  ALSO    RETURNS 

"  And  the  crops  have  kept  on  growing  just  the 
same." 

Meloon  laughed,  but  his  laughter  did  not  jar  upon 
his  hearer. 

"  I've  had  a  terrible  time  looking  everywhere. 
She  told  me  she  would  write.  She  has  lied  to  me. 
I  didn't  think  she  would  lie." 

"  She  will  write — in  time." 

"  Are  you  defending  her  ?"  savagely.  "  It's  curi- 
ous how  a  girl  will  change  a  man's  life.  Sometimes 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  kill  her.  She  belongs  to  me,  any- 
way." 

"  How  is  that  ?"  coolly. 

"  Because  the  minister  married  us — and  she  was 
happy  that  half-hour  on  the  train  with  me  after  he 
had  said  we  were  man  and  wife — man  and  wife — 
do  you  hear?  You  can't  unsay  such  words — you 
needn't  tell  me  that  you  can.  And  she  surely  loved 
me  then." 

Hildreth  paused  ;  he  took  off  his  hat  and  looked 
into  it  in  an  indefinite  way.  Then  he  looked  at 
Meloon  and  smiled  forlornly. 

"What  rot  have  I  been  talking?  I  should  say  I 
was  what  you  might  call  an  unmanly  driveller.  I 
despise  a  driveller,  don't  you,  Meloon?  I'm  going 
to  sing  this  fall  if  my  voice  don't  turn  rusty.  I 
meant  to  sing  with  her.  Where  the  devil  has  she 
gone?  Her  mother  promised  that  she  would  send 
me  word — I  told  her  where  a  word  would  finally 
reach  me — if  Billy  wrote.  She  hasn't.  Billy  would 
write  to  her  mother  at  last.  Has  the  old  lady  lied 
to  me,  too  ?  I  say,  Meloon  " — reaching  over  the 
fence  and  grasping  the  front  of  Meloon's  frock  and 
shaking  him  while  his  face  turned  a  sort  of  blue 
white — "  I  say,  what  makes  you  look  like  that  ?  Eh  ? 

213 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

Did  you  go  after  her? — you?  And  you  found  her? 
Eh  ?  Can't  you  speak  ?" 

Hildreth's  voice  had  been  thickening  as  it  went  on. 
He  made  an  effort  and  cleared  it  somewhat. 

"  You're  all  a  pack  of  liars  here — she  as  well  as  the 
rest,  only  I  care  for  her;  she's  my  wife." 

Meloon  had  put  a  hand  on  each  shoulder  of  the 
young  man  and  held  him  pressed  against  the  fence, 
otherwise  it  seemed  as  if  Hildreth  might  fall. 

"Don't  call  us  hard  names,"  said  the  elder  man, 
gently.  "  I  did  try  to  find  Miss  Armstrong.  Why 
shouldn't  I  try?  I — " 

"You  found  her?  By you  found  her!"  furi- 
ously. 

"Yes — just  in  time  to  see  her  sail  away  on  the 
Cunarder  with  your  sister,  Hildreth.  Hold  on  to 
yourself,  man !  You're  worn  out.  Come  here,  some- 
body, and  help  me" — turning  and  shouting  towards 
the  men  gathering  corn,  for  Hildreth  had  fallen  for- 
ward limply,  then  sank  in  a  huddle  on  the  ground  at 
the  other  side  of  the  fence. 


XXVII 
CALM   DAYS 

THE  young  man  rallied,  however,  the  next  day. 
He  rose  from  his  bed  and  came  into  the  kitchen, 
where  he  found  Mrs.  Armstrong.    There  was 
something  feminine  and  pleading  in  his  eyes,  and 
the  woman  hastened  to  him  ;  she  took  his  hand  and 
he  clung  to  it ;  he  put  his  arm  about  her  neck  and 
kissed  her  cheek,  as  he  had  done  before.     Then  he 
said,  apologetically  : 

"  I'm  not  always  such  a  weak  creature.  You  see : 
I've  been  flat  with  a  fever,  and  it's  left  me  childish, 
I  suppose." 

He  sat  down  wearily  in  a  chair  close  by.  He 
leaned  his  head  on  his  hand,  gazing  at  the  floor,  as 
he  asked  : 

"  You've  heard  from  her?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  she  didn't  write  anything." 

Hildreth  looked  up  suspiciously. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  You  know  I'm 
going  to  find  her.  You  needn't  keep  anything  back. 
I'd  have  been  with  her  by  this  time  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  that  fever.  She  knows  as  well  as  I  do  that  there's 
no  one  can  sing  with  her  as  I  can.  I  can  help  her  in 
her  ambition.  That's  all  she  cares  for — her  ambi- 
tion. She's  a  hard,  cold  woman.  But  I'm  going  to 
help  her  all  the  same.  She  belongs  to  me,  you 
know." 

215 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

Hildreth  had  spoken  with  great  rapidity  and  em- 
phasis. He  finished  by  saying  again :  "You  needn't 
keep  anything  back.  Where  is  she  ?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  felt  a  sort  of  gratitude  to  this 
young  man.  She  longed  to  have  some  one  inter- 
ested in  her  daughter.  It  was  trying  that  Meloon 
didn't  wish  to  hear  anything.  She  felt  a  desire  to 
be  voluble  on  the  subject.  It  was  not  enough  that 
she  should  pray  night  and  morning  about  Miny. 

"  I  don't  know  where  she  is,"  she  answered. 

She  had  sat  down  with  the  dish  of  raisins  she  was 
stoning  for  cake.  She  rose  again,  unable  to  be  quiet. 
She  took  a  cloth  and  began  to  dust  the  legs  of  a  chair. 

"  How  can  you  tell  where  Miny  is?"  quaveringly. 
"  She's  so  headstrong  that  she'll  send  me  into  my 
grave.  She — " 

"  Where  was  her  letter  from?"  impatiently. 

"  From  London.  She  said  she  was  in  London  ; 
but  what  of  that?  You  might  as  well  say  you're  in 
Babylon  and  expect  somebody  to  know  where  you 
are.  You — " 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  the  letter  ?"  again  interrupt- 
ing. 

"Just  as  lives  as  not."  Mrs.  Armstrong  pulled  the 
letter  from  a  pocket  in  her  skirt,  and  Hildreth  sprang 
to  take  it.  It  was  short  enough : 

"  DEAR  MOTHER, — Here  I  am  safe  in  London.  You  needn't 
worry  one  bit  about  me.  Bashy  —  just  think,  Bashy!  —  is 
with  me.  I'm  as  wise  as  a  serpent  about  taking  care  of  my- 
self. Tell  Vane  that  I'll  write  to  him  some  time,  because  I 
promised;  but  not  at  present.  Don't — please  don't — worry 
about  me." 

Hildreth  handed  back  the  note  in  silence. 
"  She  doesn't  say  much,  does  she?" 
216 


CALM   DAYS 

"  She  means  to  cut  herself  adrift  from  her  old  life 
— that's  what  she  means." 

The  young  man  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hildreth,  you  ain't  going  now,  are  you  ?" 

"  Certainly.  Why  should  I  stay  here  ?  I  have  a 
lot  of  things  to  do — get  up  my  strength  since  my 
fever  —  practise  my  voice  —  find  Miss  Armstrong. 
But  you've  been  very  kind  to  me,  Mrs.  Armstrong — 
I  thank  you." 

He  went  back  and  took  the  woman's  hand,  holding 
it  close  between  his  palms  for  a  moment.  As  he 
stood  thus  two  tears  left  his  eyes  and  rolled  down 
his  cheeks.  He  felt  weak  and  childish,  and  indignant 
that  he  felt  so.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  old  gay, 
care-free,  somewhat  inconsequent  man  he  used  to  be 
was  gone  —  he  did  not  know  where.  And  at  this 
thought  he  felt  angry  and  vindictive  towards  Wil- 
helmina. 

In  the  yard  Hildreth  met  Meloon  and  the  dogs. 
The  young  man  tried  to  say  something  about  his 
gratitude  to  the  master  of  the  house,  but  he  made  a 
boggle  of  his  words  and  suddenly  stopped,  leaning 
against  a  tree  for  support. 

The  end  of  the  interview  was  that  Meloon  made 
him  go  into  the  house  and  lie  down  on  the  lounge 
in  the  sitting-room. 

"  If  you  have  strength  to  get  up  you  can't  find  a 
better  place  to  do  it  than  among  these  hills,"  he  said. 

But  Hildreth  only  remained  a  week ;  he  was  stung 
by  a  thousand  hopes  and  memories ;  still  he  gained 
in  health,  in  spite  of  himself. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  stood  by  Meloon  as  the  two 
watched  Hildreth  go  away ;  he  was  driven  in  a 
carriage  by  one  of  the  hired  men.  He  turned  and 
waved  his  hat  at  them. 

217 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  "  I  do  wish 
Miny  would  marry  him  and  behave  like  other  girls. 
I  haven't  a  doubt  but  that  she  loves  him — in  fact,  I 
know  she  does.  But  she's  got  that  singing  busiiu  >s 
into  her  head — thanks  to  that  Runciman  woman." 

Meloon  made  no  response.  He  was  standing  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand  under  the  big  cherry-tree  that 
grew  near  the  shed  door.  Presently  he  began  to 
smile  to  himself  in  a  sort  of  derision  at  his  own  sen- 
timentality, for  he  was  repeating  in  his  mind  those 
lines  of  Browning : 

41  ...   her  delicious  eyes  as  clear  as  heaven 
When  rain  in  a  quick  shower  has  beat  down  mist, 
And  clouds  float  white  in  the  sun  like  broods  of  swans." 

In  a  moment,  however,  he  turned  towards  the  open 
doorway  where  Mrs.  Armstrong  still  stood. 

"  Well,  Serissa,"  he  said,  "  the  old  folks  are  left  to 
grub  along  as  they  can.  Of  course  she  loves  him  ; 
I  don't  doubt  it  in  the  least;  and  there's  something 
very  lovable  about  him  too,  though  I've  seen  men 
with  a  more  rugged,  tougher  fibre.  But  what  do 
you  expect  of  a  tenor  singer?" 

Meloon  laughed  and  began  to  hum  in  his  rough 
barytone: 

"  She  comes  like  the  husht  beauty  of  the  night, 

But  sees  too  deep  for  laughter ; 

Her  touch  is  a  vibration  and  a  light 

From  worlds  before  and  after." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  had  been  listening. 
"  I'm   sure  I  don't   know  what   that   means,"  she 
said. 

Meloon  laughed  still  more. 

"  I  don't   know  myself ;    perhaps  nobody  knows. 
218 


CALM    DAYS 

But  it  has  a  fine  kind  of  a  twang  to  it,  eh?"  And 
he  hummed  again : 

"  Her  touch  is  a  vibration  and  a  light 
From  worlds  before  and  after." 

Then  he  walked  away,  going  on  up  the  field  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  the  dogs  trailing  behind. 

It  seemed  but  a  short  time  now  before  it  was  cold 
weather  and  the  first  snow  came  in  a  little  premoni- 
tory flurry,  melting  away  immediately. 

Billy  had  given  no  address,  and  her  mother  could 
not  write  to  her,  and  Billy  herself  had  not  written 
again.  And  not  a  word  had  come  from  Vane  Hil- 
dreth.  The  two  had  drifted  off  into  another  world. 

Meantime  at  the  farm  it  seemed  very  cosey.  A 
great  fire  of  cord-wood  was  always  burning  on  the 
hearth  in  the  sitting-room. 

A  girl  from  the  village  came  two  days  a  week  to 
help  Mrs.  Armstrong  with  the  hardest  of  the  work. 
Meloon  had  given  up  his  cane ;  he  was  hale  and 
cheerful.  People  in  the  houses  here  and  there  had 
settled  from  the  first  that  he  would  eventually  marry 
his  housekeeper. 

"  'N'  real  sootable  it  '11  be,  too."  Mrs.  Armstrong 
herself,  however,  began  to  doubt  that  this  was  her 
employer's  intention,  though  such  an  arrangement 
seemed  suitable  to  her  also.  Her  days  were  full. 
In  the  evenings  she  sat  by  the  little  stand  at  the 
other  side  of  the  fire.  She  had  an  open  Bible  on  the 
stand  beneath  the  lamp;  as  she  mended  stockings 
or  knit  she  sometimes  read  a  verse.  The  days  were 
quiet  and  peaceful.  Meloon  told  her  again  and 
again  that  she  needn't  worry  about  Billy ;  he  as- 
sured her  that,  though  the  girl  was  full  of  romance, 

219 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

she  yet  had  a  good  strong  streak  of  old-fashioned 
common-sense  in  her  make-up. 

"  Let  her  fly — she  is  bound  to  try  her  wings,"  he 
said.  And  he  added,  with  a  smile:  "  Indeed  we  can't 
help  ourselves."  That's  all  he  would  allow  to  be  said 
of  the  girl. 

Then  he  would  make  his  bow  whisper  confidentially 
to  the  fiddle-strings,  for  he  had  fallen  into  a  way  of 
taking  his  violin  when  he  sat  down  of  an  evening, 
though  sometimes  he  would  not  play  at  all,  but  held 
the  instrument  with  a  sort  of  tenderness.  It  was  an 
old  violin  of  a  somewhat  famous  make,  one  of  his 
"  early  extravagances,"  he  called  it.  He  would  hold 
it  up  to  his  ear  and  listen. 

"  Don't  you  know,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
"  that  these  old  fiddles  keep  all  the  harmonies  that 
have  ever  been  played  on  them  ? — and  if  you  are  en 
rapport  with  them,  they  will  whisper  and  murmur 
this  long-ago  music,  and  you  may  hear  it." 

"  That  was  one  of  Miny's  notions,"  returned  the 
mother.  "  She  had  lots  of  such  notions,  but  I  never 
could  find  head  nor  tail  to  'em — childish,  I  call  it." 


XXVIII 
AT   THE   TICKET -OFFICE 

THERE  was  opera  in  Boston,  though  if  you  were 
up  among  the  New  Hampshire  mountains  you 
would  not  have  believed  that  there  could  any- 
where be  gay  dressing,  the  flashing  of  diamonds,  the 
melodious  love-making  and  quarrelling  among  ten- 
ors, and  sopranos,  and  contraltos.  Those  "  cloud- 
capped  granite  hills "  would  have  nothing  of  any 
such  life  ;  their  own  grandeurs  were  enough. 

A  light  cutter,  drawn  by  a  slender,  swift -going 
mare,  was  sliding  along  the  lane  that  led  from  the 
main  road  to  the  Meloon  farm.  The  owner  of  that 
farm,  muffled  to  his  nose,  was  holding  the  reins,  and 
apparently  he  was  the  power  that  kept  the  mare 
from  absolutely  flying  through  space.  As  it  was, 
she  whizzed  around  the  corner  of  the  house  to  the 
barn,  the  snow  flying  from  under  her  feet,  the  sleigh 
going  mostly  on  one  runner. 

Presently  Meloon  came  into  the  shed,  and  his 
housekeeper,  gathering  some  chips  into  her  apron, 
hurried  to  meet  him. 

"  Any  letters  ?" 

"  No,"  stamping  the  snow  from  his  boots.  "  But 
there's  a  paper — yesterday's  paper,  you  know.  The 
opera  season  has  begun  in  Boston." 

Mrs.  Armstrong's  apron  suddenly  fell,  and  the 
221 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

chips  scattered;  but  she  would  not  speak  her  daugh- 
ter's name.  Through  all  these  dreary  months — and 
it  was  now  February — she  had  hardly  spoken  the 
girl's  name,  save  when  she  was  praying  to  God  for 
the  child's  safety.  She  thought  Meloon  hard  and 
cold,  and  he  was  usually  kind.  She  did  not  under- 
stand. And  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  herself  was 
falling  from  grace  in  some  way,  for  her  visions  of  the 
coming  of  Christ  to  this  earth  were  infrequent  in 
these  days,  and  blurred  when  they  did  appear.  She 
had  begun  to  think  more  and  more  that  she  had 
committed  a  great  sin  in  not  forcibly  preventing 
Miny  from  going  back  to  the  wicked  world.  A  great 
sin  —  mayhap  it  was  the  unpardonable  sin — who 
could  tell  ?  In  the  silence  of  those  glittering  winter 
days  in  the  country  Mrs.  Armstrong's  narrow  mind 
turned  more  and  more  to  that  subject,  and  her  face 
settled  into  a  gloom. 

Meloon  flung  back  his  buffalo-skin  coat  and  drew 
out  the  Boston  daily.  Mrs.  Armstrong  hurried  away 
with  it. 

Ten  minutes  later  Meloon,  going  into  the  sitting, 
room,  found  Serissa  kneeling  by  a  chair,  her  face 
hidden,  and  incoherent  words  of  supplication  coming 
rapidly  from  her  lips.  She  did  not  notice  his  en- 
trance, but  went  on  praying. 

The  newspaper  lay  open  on  the  floor  near  her. 
Meloon  said  nothing.  He  stepped  forward  gently, 
took  up  the  paper,  and  walked  away  with  it.  He 
shut  the  doors  between  him  and  the  kitchen.  The 
sound  of  that  prayer  was  to  him  something  like 
blows  upon  bruised  flesh.  Then  he  had  a  half- 
formed  wish  that  he  might  be  able  to  pray ;  life  was 
such  a  muddle  at  the  best,  and  the  thing  you  wanted 
was  usually  beyond  reach. 


AT  THE  TICKET -OFFICE 

"  We  get  a  lot  of  discipline  out  of  it,  at  any  rate ; 
and  perhaps  that's  all  life  is  meant  to  be." 

He  said  this  grimly  as  his  eyes  ran  over  the  print- 
ed page.  He  had  purposely  abstained  from  opening 
the  paper  at  the  post-office,  but  he  had  long  known 
the  date  of  the  beginning  of  the  opera  season  in  Bos- 
ton. It  was,  he  thought,  like  having  a  knowledge  of 
something  that  was  going  to  take  place  in  Jupiter. 

There  was  the  ordinary  advertisement  of  the  opera 
under  the  head  of  amusements.  For  "  Lucia,"  Wil- 
helmina  Armstrong  in  the  title  role,  Vane  Hildreth 
as  Edgardo. 

Meloon  having  read  this,  put  down  the  paper  for  a 
moment.  There  is  a  curious  something  in  the  most 
of  us  that  prompts  to  more  or  less  brief  periods  of 
self-torture  ;  often  followed  by  seasons  of  greater 
self-indulgence,  the  pendulum  always  striving  for 
an  equilibrium. 

The  afternoon  sun  was  making  a  blinding  light  on 
the  stretches  of  snow  outside,  and  by  this  light  Me- 
loon found  and  read  the  long  criticism  on  the  first 
hearing  and  seeing  the  new  prima  donna.  The  critic 
at  the  beginning  made  an  effort  to  speak  of  faults 
with  that  air  of  superiority  which  such  people  use, 
but  shortly  he  abandoned  this  attempt  and  gave 
himself  up  to  the  superlatives  that  were  evidently 
crowding  to  the  point  of  his  pen.  He  even  went  so 
far  as  to  mention  "the  delicious  tonal  coloring" 
which  characterized  Miss  Armstrong's  voice.  He 
said  that  never  before  had  any  woman  been  able  to 
act  and  sing  at  once  with  restraint  and  also  with 
abandon.  She  possessed  both  art  and  warmth.  In 
the  duet  with  Edgardo — 

But  here  the  paper  rustled  so  in  Meloon's  hands 
that  he  could  not  read  ;  he  was  smiling  in  derision. 

223 


%        THE   MELOON    FARM 

"  Bosh !  He's  making  phrases,"  he  exclaimed. 
"But,  of  course,  in  the  duet  with  Edgardo — " 

He  turned  the  page.  There  were  several  places 
where  the  opening  of  the  opera  season  was  men- 
tioned— the  enthusiasm  of  the  audience — the  recalls 
and  recalls.  And  a  paragraph  asked  if  it  were  true 
that  Miss  Armstrong  was  really  Mr.  Hildreth's  wife. 
And  Mr.  Hildreth  himself  never  sang  with  nearly  so 
much  precision  and  fire — he  was  evidently  inspired, 
and  no  wonder.  He  was  taking  his  place  in  the  very 
front  rank — and  so  on,  and  so  on. 

And  now  Mcloon  flung  the  paper  from  him  with 
some  violence.  He  looked  at  his  watch.  Then 
he  went  to  the  barn  and  found  a  man  chopping 
feed. 

"  Put  the  mare  into  the  cutter  again  and  take  me 
over  to  the  station,"  he  said. 

"  You  can't  git  that  five  o'clock  train,"  was  the  re- 
sponse. 

"  I  can,  and  I  will." 

On  his  way  to  his  own  room  Meloon  heard  Mrs. 
Armstrong  still  praying,  but  he  put  his  head  in  at 
the  door  and  interrupted. 

"  Serissa,  I'm  going  clown  to  Boston  for  a  few  days. 
Do  you  want  to  go?  There's  no  time  to  lose— yes 
or  no?" 

Serissa's  voice  ceased,  but  she  remained  on  her 
knees  with  her  face  hidden. 

"  Are  you  going  to  hear  her  sing  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"No — no.  If  it's  wicked  for  her  to  sing  it's  wicked 
to  hear  her.  No — no." 

Meloon  shut  the  door.  For  the  next  ten  minutes 
his  hands  worked  of  themselves,  apparently,  for  he 
could  not  think  of  what  he  was  doing.  Trooper  and 

224 


AT  THE  TICKET -OFFICE 

Lotos  came  whining  from  the  kitchen.     He  put  a 
hurried  hand  on  the  head  of  each. 

"Be  good  boys,"  he  said,  and  as  he  hastened  from 
the  house  he  called  out : 

"  Serissa,  take  care  of  the  dogs." 

The  mare  and  the  cutter  came  to  the  outer  door 
just  as  Meloon  flung  it  open.  He  saw  a  dog's  face  at 
each  window  of  the  kitchen  as  the  sleigh  sped  off. 
Up  on  the  hill  a  mile  away  he  could  look  across  the 
snow  to  the  place  where  the  light  burned  in  his 
kitchen ;  seeing  that  light,  he  felt  an  impulse  to  re- 
turn, and  a  misgiving  as  to  what  he  was  doing. 
Then  he  pulled  the  robes  still  more  closely  about 
him  and  laughed. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  hear  an  opera  now  and  then  ?" 
he  asked  himself ;  and  he  laughed  so  that  his  com- 
panion remarked  that  he  "didn't  see  notnin'  to  laugh 
at ;  and  the  glass  'd  prob'ly  be  down  about  twenty 
below  by  mornin',  if  not  more.  Goin'  to  stay  long  ?" 

Meloon  had  taken  a  grip-sack  with  him,  but  he 
had  not  thought  how  long  he  should  stay. 

"A  young  fellow  must  have  his  fling  now  and 
then,"  he  said,  and  he  laughed  again. 

In  truth,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  no  more 
than  twenty  years  old.  "Ah,  it's  a  great  thing  to 
be  young,"  he  said,  and  he  enjoyed  his  companion's 
perplexity. 

The  train  was  roaring  far  down  the  rails  as  he 
sprang  from  the  sleigh  with  his  bag  in  his  hand. 

"  I  may  be  back  any  day,"  he  told  his  man ;  he 
tried  hurriedly  to  think  of  something  sensible  to 
say  before  the  train  reached  the  station,  and  he 
managed  to  announce  that  he  might  find  a  good 
market  for  those  winter  apples;  and  "be  sure  and 
look  well  to  the  animals." 
p  225 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

Then  he  was  on  the  train,  and  it  was  taking  him 
down  towards  Boston,  and  with  every  mile  a  year 
was  whirling  from  his  age. 

"A  man  is  only  as  old  as  he  feels — that's  a  fine 
saying." 

He  turned  back  his  coat  in  the  warm  car  and 
took  off  his  hat.  He  looked  keenly  at  every  face  he 
saw,  but  there  were  not  many  passengers,  and  what 
there  were  had  that  sulky  appearance  of  endurance 
which  is  so  often  characteristic  of  the  railway  trav- 
eller. 

"  They  are  not  going  down  to  hear  an  opera-singer," 
Meloon  thought,  "and  they're  mostly  old  fogies." 

All  through  the  journey,  which  lasted  until  nearly 
eleven  that  evening,  Meloon  gave  free  rein  to  his 
fancies,  whatever  they  were  ;  it  might  be  judged  from 
his  sparkling  eyes  that  they  were  pleasant.  He 
never  forgot  that  journey. 

Arriving  in  Boston,  he  went  directly  to  the  hotel 
on  Brattle  Street  where  he  used  to  come  with  his 
father,  and  by  himself  on  his  rare  visits  to  the  city. 
He  slept  every  minute  until  daylight,  and  he  rose 
and  dressed  with  the  same  subtle  and  delightful 
sense  of  excitement  controlling  him.  He  stood  be- 
fore the  glass  and  examined  his  clothes.  He  knew 
that  they  had  a  countrified  look,  and  he  was  tempted 
to  buy  a  dress-suit  for  the  evening.  He  yielded  to 
that  temptation  ;  then  he  shut  himself  in  his  room 
and  dressed  himself  in  these  new  garments,  aware 
of  a  startled  admiration  for  his  broad  shoulders  and 
stalwart  figure.  He  was  never  self-conscious,  so  he 
was  not  awkward. 

"I  suppose  second  childhood  comes  earlier  with 
some  than  with  others,"  he  said,  as  he  stroked  his 
mustache  in  front  of  the  mirror. 

226 


AT  THE  TICKET- OFFICE 

But  though  he  spoke  thus  cynically  there  was  no 
cynicism  in  his  heart  at  this  moment,  only  an  en- 
chanting gayety,  that  elixir  of  youth  which  some 
may  quaff  when  youth  is  apparently  over. 

Meloon  took  off  his  new  suit  and  carefully  folded 
it.  He  drew  out  his  pocket-book  and  examined  his 
ticket  for  the  opera  that  night.  He  had  purchased 
this  bit  of  pasteboard  in  the  morning  as  soon  as 
the  box-office  opened.  Indeed,  he  had  been  leaning 
about  in  the  vestibule  an  hour  before  a  leisurely 
man  had  appeared  at  the  office  in  a  dilatory  manner. 
Then  Meloon  found  that  a  seat  far  back  in  the  bal- 
cony behind  a  pillar  was  all  he  could  have.  No 
matter,  he  would  go  down  and  stand — rear  seats  and 
pillars  had  no  terrors  for  him.  And  that  hour  of 
waiting  for  the  ticket  clerk  had  not  seemed  long, 
for  there  were  the  portraits  of  Wilhelmina  Arm- 
strong, nearly  life  size,  one  in  the  bridal  white  of 
the  already  distraught  Lucia,  the  other  in  street 
dress. 

Yes,  that  was  Billy  —  that  wild,  rapt  face  above 
the  white  gown  ;  and  this  other  was  she  also,  calm, 
with  a  sort  of  courtesy  of  bearing  that  was  very 
charming. 

Meloon  stood  his  ground,  while  men  and  women 
dropped  in  from  Washington  Street  to  look  at  the 
pictures  and  to  buy  tickets.  He  listened  to  their 
remarks. 

"  Every  decent  seat  in  the  house  gone  for  the 
week.  I  call  that  beastly  mean.  Oh,  there's  the 
Armstrong,"  stopping  close  to  Meloon,  and  staring 
as  well  as  the  lighting  of  a  cigarette  would  permit. 
"  Fine,  ain't  she  ?  But  that  isn't  half  as  fine  as  she  is. 
Gad  !  You  ought  to  see  her  in  *  Trovatore  ' — fetch- 
ing now,  I  tell  you.  She — " 

227 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

Here  the  two  youths  walked  away. 

"  There  she  is  now — I'm  glad  we  have  scats  down 
front — I  wouldn't  go  if  I  couldn't  have  an  orchestra 
stall  —  do  you  think  that  looks  like  her?  Prettier 
than  she  is — these  photos  do  flatter  so.  Yes,  I  want 
a  stall,  or  I  won't  go — then  you  can  see  Hildreth's 
eyes  when  he's  singing  love  at  her.  Hildreth's  just 
splendid — splendid.  I  always  do  wonder  when  I  see 
them  play  together — I  saw  them  twice  in  New  York 
this  season,  you  know — I  always  do  wonder  if  she 
can  help  being  in  love  with  him.  I  couldn't,  I'm 
sure.  And  I'm  positive  he's  in  love  with  her.  There 
needn't  anybody  tell  me  that's  all  acting.  Gracious  ! 
Just  think  of  him  in  the  tower !  Who  was  it  they 
called  such  a  good  lover,  years  and  years  ago,  you 
know — was  it  Maurel?  But  it  isn't  possible  for  any 
one  to  be  such  a  lover  as  Hildreth.  Don't  you  think 
so?  I  wish  this  tall  man  would  move  an  inch  or 
two  ;  I  can't — " 

"  Hush  !"  from  her  companion.  "  Look  there — 
close  to  us — it's  the  Armstrong  herself !  Ain't  we 
in  luck?  She  isn't  as  pretty  as  her  picture,  is 
she  ?" 

The  two  girls  pushed  forward  towards  the  side- 
walk. Meloon  stepped  forward  also.  He  stood 
there  with  head  above  the  crowd,  watching  Billy  as 
she  walked  slowly  along.  She  glanced  here  and 
there,  but  rather  absently,  as  one  who  did  not  see 
the  faces  near  her.  She  was  alone,  and  was  dressed 
with  scrupulous  simplicity.  She  was  thin  and  pale, 
but  had  not  the  slightest  appearance  of  illness. 

She  had  just  passed  by  the  entrance  when  she 
paused  as  if  something  drew  her  back.  She  turned 
and  retraced  a  few  steps,  apparently  being  about  to 
enter  the  vestibule.  Meloon,  hardly  knowing  that 

228 


AT  THE  TICKET- OFFICE 

he  did  so,  retreated  into  the  dim  interior.  But  he 
saw  Billy  glance  in  ;  he  even  fancied  there  was  a 
wistful  expression  on  her  face  as  she  did  so.  The 
next  moment  she  turned  quickly  and  went  down  the 

street. 


XXIX 
TYPE-WRITTEN    LETTERS 

MELOON  hesitated  an  instant ;  then  he  pushed 
out  among  the  people,  and  walked  on  slowly 
in  the  direction  taken  by  Miss  Armstrong. 
He  was  following  her,  though  he  would  hardly  have 
acknowledged  the  fact.  Presently  she  turned  into 
West  Street,  and  then  to  the  left  on  Tremont  Street  ; 
here  she  paused  and  looked  in  at  a  window,  but  ab- 
sently, and  then  she  glanced  rapidly  and  keenly 
about  her  as  if  searching  for  some  one. 

Meloon  stepped  beneath  an  entrance  to  a  store, 
and  was  thus  beyond  the  range  of  her  vision.  He 
could  not  have  told  why  he  did  this  ;  and  he  would 
have  scoffed  at  the  fact  that  these  few  trivial  mo- 
ments seemed  freighted  as  if  with  the  excitement  of 
an  adventure.  Why,  what  adventure  was  it  because 
he  happened  to  see  an  acquaintance  on  a  Boston 
street  ?  Such  a  thing  might  happen  at  any  time,  and 
not  stir  his  pulses  in  the  least. 

Was  Billy  looking  for  some  one?  It  seemed  so. 
For  whom  ? 

Meloon  caught  himself  up  for  the  fierceness  with 
which  he  put  this  inquiry  to  himself,  and  his  abun- 
dant but  rather  superficial  cynicism  came  to  his 
aid. 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  coat 
and  forcibly  withdrew  his  eyes  from  Billy,  though 

230 


TYPE -WRITTEN   LETTERS 

not  until  he  had  seen  her  resume  her  walk  up  Tre- 
mont  Street. 

He  stood  staring  across  at  the  Common,  the  bleak 
winter  wind  striking  hard  upon  him  and  seeming 
more  chill  than  the  breezes  from  the  mountains  at 
home.  The  reaction  from  his  sudden  journey  had 
not  yet  come ;  he  was  still  feeling  the  flow  and  the 
intoxication  of  the  impulse,  and  his  obedience  to  it. 

Starting  to  cross  to  the  Common,  he  felt  some  one 
take  hold  of  his  arm. 

"  Meloon  !     How  are  you  !     This  is  a  surprise  !" 

The  next  moment  he  was  shaking  hands  warmly 
with  Hildreth,  whose  eyes,  even  in  the  instant  of 
greeting,  wandered  off  questioningly  among  the 
moving  people,  and  the  elder  man  said  to  himself : 
"  She  was  looking  for  him." 

Hildreth  presented  a  nearly  faultless  appearance 
of  handsome  masculinity :  freshly  shaven,  bright- 
eyed,  perhaps  too  obtrusively  well  dressed. 

"Been  in  the  city  long?"  he  asked. 

"  No — can't  you  see  the  hayseed  in  my  hair  ?" 

"  Pshaw  !     There's  no  hayseed  about  you." 

"There's  certainly  none  about  you,  Hildreth. 
You're  fine  as  silk.  I  don't  believe  you  ever  wore 
denim  overalls  and  shovelled  manure  on  the  Meloon 
farm.  You  dazzle  me.  Do  opera-singers  look  this 
way  when  they're  let  out  on  the  streets  ?" 

"  Come,  now,  don't  make  fun  of  me.  You  were 
awfully  good  to  me,  Meloon.  I  can  never  be  grate- 
ful enough  to  you.  I  was  down  on  my  luck  then. 
Come  to  my  room,  and  we'll  have  lunch  together." 

Meloon  hesitated,  but  his  companion  put  his  hand 
through  his  arm  and  walked  him  to  the  Vendome. 
Sitting  down  there  in  his  own  room,  Hildreth  offered 
a  cigar,  which  was  refused.  He  tossed  it  back  into 

231 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

the  holder  and  clasped  his  hands  back  of  his  head, 
stretching  out  his  feet  and  gazing  at  them. 

Meloon  sat  quietly,  his  strong  face  showing  in  sin- 
gular contrast  to  the  fine  countenance  opposite  him. 

"I  can  guess  why  you  came  down,"  Hildreth  said, 
at  last. 

"  I  wanted  to  find  a  good  market  for  a  lot  of  rus- 
sets— first-class  apples  for  spring." 

"  Oh— eh !" 

Meloon  repeated  his  remark,  and  then  smiled. 
Hildreth  laughed,  a  trifle  constrainedly.  Meloon 
added  that  he  was  going  to  mix  a  little  opera  with 
his  russets. 

"  I  want  to  find  out  what  kind  of  a  tenor  my  hired 
man  makes.  I  heard  some  girls  saying  just  now 
that  Hildreth  was  a  better  lover  than — was  it  Mau- 
rel  ?" 

Hildreth  struck  one  hand  down  on  the  stuffed 
arm  of  his  chair. 

"Oh,  damn  it  all!"  he  cried  out.  Then  he  hur- 
riedly continued :  "  I  hope  you'll  pardon  me,  Meloon. 
Of  course  I  want  the  women  to  like  me,  but  I  wish 
they  wouldn't  write  so  many  letters.  Look  at  that " 
— pointing  to  a  heap  of  envelopes  on  a  table  near — 
"those  came  since  yesterday  morning.  I've  only 
opened  a  few ;  but  they  all  came  from  women.  It's 
a  bore." 

"  Be  less  attractive  then.     It's  your  only  remedy." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me.  Billy — Miss  Armstrong — has 
more  than  that." 

"  And  hers  are  all  from  men,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No — the  most  of  them,  of  course ;  but  no  end  of 
girls  fall  in  love  with  her  and  write  to  tell  her  so, 
and  to  beg  an  autograph — some  want  a  lock  of  hair ; 
and  some  implore  a  moment's  interview,  and  permis- 

232 


TYPE -WRITTEN   LETTERS 

sion  to  kiss  her  hand.  She  used  to  read  every  letter, 
but  she  doesn't  now.  Her  maid  reads  'em,  and  tells 
her  what  she  sees  fit." 

Hildreth  paused  and  looked  somewhat  abstractedly 
about  the  room. 

"  There's  one  odd  thing,  though,"  he  resumed — and 
then  he  stopped  again.  He  rose  and  sauntered  to 
the  window.  He  turned  about  towards  his  guest, 
who  was  watching  him. 

"  The  odd  thing  is  that  she  has  a  letter  every  day 
from  somebody  who  uses  a  type-writer." 

"Lots  of  people  use  a  type  -  writer,"  remarked 
Meloon. 

"  Oh,  of  course — of  course.  But  if  you  were  smit- 
ten with  a  prima  donna,  would  you  print  your  effu- 
sion to  her  ?" 

"  I  ?  Oh,  it's  hard  telling  what  I  should  do.  The 
commission  merchant  who  takes  my  butter  and  hogs 
and  maple  sugar  always  sends  type  with  the  word 
'  dictated '  in  the  top  left-hand  corner." 

"  Hogs  ? — butter  ? — but  you  are  laughing  at  me, 
Meloon.  I  find  I  have  the  same  inclination  to  con- 
fide in  you  that  I  had  when  I  was  up  in  New  Hamp- 
shire on  your  farm.  Now,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm 
miserably,  cursedly  jealous  of  that  type-written  letter 
that  comes  every  morning  addressed  to  Miss  Wilhel- 
mina  Armstrong.  Yes,  you  may  laugh  at  me  if  you 
want  to  —  call  me  a  jackass.  You  can't  call  me  a 
jackass  as  emphatically  as  I  call  myself  one." 

"  Perhaps  these  notes  are  solicitations  from  milli- 
ners and  dressmakers  for  the  custom  of  the  prima 
donna"  suggested  Meloon. 

"  No ;  they're  nothing  of  the  kind.  Billy  has  shown 
me  the  two  or  three  that  came  first.  I  laughed  at 
them." 

233 


THE    MELOON   FARM 

"So  did  she,  I  suppose." 

"  Well — no.  She  was  puzzled,  but  she  took  them 
rather  seriously.  She  said  there  was  a  tone  in  them 
that  appealed  to  her ;  she  couldn't  tell  why.  The 
first  one  was  merely  an  announcement  that  the 
writer  was  so  greatly  interested  in  her  that  he  pro- 
posed to  spend  an  hour  every  day  in  communing 
with  her.  He  said  that  he  was,  of  course,  attracted 
by  her  voice,  but  that,  more  than  all,  he  was  inter- 
ested by  what  he  assumed  were  her  possibilities  as  a 
human  being,  and  a  woman.  How  is  that  for  sheer 
bras 

"  The  fellow  must  be  made  of  brass.  But  why  do 
you  say  he's  a  man  ? — why  not  one  of  those  love- 
smitten  women  you  mentioned  ?" 

"  Do  you  think  there's  a  woman  on  the  face  of  this 
globe  that  would  use  a  type-writer  for  such  a  pur- 
pose? Women,  even  when  they're  fools,  know  better 
than  that.  Besides,  internal  evidence,  you  know. 
Oh,  he's  a  man  fast  enough ;  and  I'm  kicking  my- 
self every  day  because  I'm  so  weak  as  to  hate  him. 
I  wouldn't  mind  if  he  kept  his  machine  printing 
words  every  minute  of  his  life  if  Billy  didn't  seem 
interested.  I  vow,  I  think  she  looks  forward  to  'em 
now.  She  doesn't  show  them  to  me  any  more. 
Bushy — that's  my  sister — says  she  reads  those  letters 
any  time  through  the  day — as  a  pious  woman  takes 
up  her  Bible,  you  know." 

"  How  do  they  reach  her  ?" 

"  By  mail.  But  each  letter  is  mailed  in  the  town 
where  our  troupe  is  stopping  ;  for  instance,  since 
we've  been  in  Boston  the  envelopes  are  post-marked 
Boston,  stamped  the  night  before.  Billy,  wherever 
she  is,  has  one  of  those  notes  for  breakfast  every 
morning." 

234 


TYPE -WRITTEN   LETTERS 

Meloon  began  to  laugh  ;  he  laughed  with  so  much 
heartiness  that  one  might  almost  have  suspected  the 
genuineness  of  such  hilarity.  So  Billy  was  interested 
in  those  type-written  epistles  ?  There  was  mystery 
enough,  and  persistence  enough,  about  them  to  catch 
the  attention  of  any  woman  with  a  spark  of  romance 
in  her,  and  most  women  of  sensibility  had  that  ro- 
mantic spark  in  their  composition.  The  man  who 
had  thought  of  doing  such  a  thing  would  have  a 
measure  of  success,  perhaps ;  but  Meloon  believed 
that  Hildreth  was  rather  weak  to  be  jealous.  As  for 
Meloon  himself,  it  would  be  absurd,  indeed,  for  him 
to  be  jealous  about  anything. 

Hildreth  scowled  at  his  guest  for  laughing. 

"  It  seems  funny  to  you,  does  it  ?"  he  asked. 

Meloon  became  outwardly  grave. 

"  It  does  have  a  comical  side,"  he  replied  ;  "  but 
what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?" 

"  Nothing,  since  I  can't  find  out  who  writes  those 
things ;  if  I  could,  you  know  I  could  take  him  and 
horsewhip  him." 

"  Certainly  ;  provided  he  wasn't  bigger  than  you, 
and  hadn't  a  stronger  horsewhip.  There's  one  great 
advantage,  however,  that  you  have  over  him." 

"  I  don't  see  it." 

"  Why,  you  have  the  privilege  of  singing  love  to 
Miss  Armstrong  every  night.  I  gather  from  what 
I  overhear  that  you  never  fail  to  improve  the  occa- 
sion." 

Hildreth  was  still  moving  restlessly  about  the 
room,  but  Meloon  sat  with  apparent  content  in  the 
chair  he  had  first  taken.  The  young  man  stopped 
in  front  of  him. 

"  You  can't  blame  me  for  that,  can  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh  no  ;  I'd  do  it  myself  in  your  place." 
235 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"  You  ?  By  Jove  !  Meloon,  I've  often  thought  I'd 
give  a  great  deal  if  I  were  as  phlegmatic  and  steady- 
going  as  you  are.  And  yet  you  lose  a  lot,  too,  you 
men  of  rock  ;  but  in  the  run  of  a  life  it's  a  gain  to 
be  rock  instead  of  flesh  and  blood.  I  don't  suppose 
you  ever  cared  for  a  woman,  now,  did  you  ?" 

But  Hildreth  was  too  restless  to  be  interested  in 
any  reply  to  his  question.  He  flung  himself  into  a 
chair  by  the  window  and  gazed  into  the  narrow  park 
opposite. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  hear  us  sing  to-night  ?"  he  said, 
after  a  silence. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  hope  you  have  a  good  seat ;  if  I'd  known  you 
were  to  be  here,  I'd  have  seen  to  that.  If  you'll  stay, 
I'll  give  you  tickets  for  the  rest  of  the  time." 

Meloon  rose.  There  was  a  tension  upon  him  that 
he  felt  he  would  like  to  have  relaxed. 

"  I'm  all  right  as  to  that,"  he  said,  "  and  it's  un- 
certain how  long  I  shall  stay  in  town  ;  I  may  leave 
to-morrow,  and,"  he  went  on,  smiling,  "  I  may  be  so 
bewitched  with  opera  that  I  shall  find  I  can't  go 
while  you  are  here." 

Hildreth  held  out  his  hand.  Meloon  fancied  there 
was  something  feminine  in  the  expression  of  the 
young  man's  face  as  he  looked  at  him ;  whatever  the 
expression  was,  it  made  the  elder  man  put  his  hand 
on  his  companion's  shoulder. 

"  Since  you're  unhappy,  why  don't  you  throw  up 
the  whole  thing?"  he  asked. 

Hildreth  gripped  Meloon's  hand  ;  he  laughed  un- 
easily. 

"  Fine  thing  to  say,"  he  responded  ;  "  I  tell  myself 
that  half  a  dozen  times  a  day,  but  it's  no  use— I'm 
held.  You  don't  know  anything  about  it.  And  now 

236 


TYPE -WRITTEN   LETTERS 

I'm  tormented  by  the  thought  that  if  these  infernal 
type  letters  hadn't  come  up,  she  might — you  know — 
who  can  tell  ?  She  did  once  think  she  loved  me;  you 
see,  I  must  dangle  about,  thinking  she  may  love  me 
again — or  fancy  that  she  does.  But,  look  here,  Me- 
loon,  you  needn't  think  I'm  whining  to  other  people 
as  I  do  to  you.  I'm  whist.  I  could  always  talk  to 
you.  I  told  you  at  the  first,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

Meloon  wished  that  he  could  say  something  more, 
but  he  could  think  of  nothing. 

"  Do  you  want  to  come  behind  the  scenes  ?"  asked 
Hildreth.  "  If  you  do,  use  this."  He  took  a  card 
from  his  pocket  and  wrote  a  few  words  upon  it. 

"  Thanks.  Don't  tell  Miss  Armstrong  I'm  here  ; 
it's  a  notion  of  mine  that  she  shouldn't  know." 

"All  right.  I  hope  you  won't  be  disappointed  in 
us  to-night.  I  suppose  you've  heard  opera  before  ?" 

"Yes — in  Paris.  Never  happened  to  go  in  my 
native  country,"  with  a  laugh. 

"  What !     You  been  in  Paris  ?" 

"  Yes,  years  ago.  I  was  bound  to  go  abroad  when 
I  was  a  youngster." 

Meloon  was  buttoning  his  coat  across  his  chest ; 
Hildreth  was  staring  at  him.  Then  the  young  man 
declared  that  he  might  be  knocked  down  with  a 
feather. 

"  Brace  up — brace  up ;  don't  be  prostrated  because 
you've  found  out  that  a  New  Hampshire  farmer  has 
been  abroad.  I'm  not  the  only  one." 

"  You  got  that  Strad  violin  over  there  some- 
where?" 

"Yes.     I'm  off  now." 

Hildreth  went  to  the  elevator  with  his  friend,  and 
wrung  his  hand  again  as  Meloon  stepped  into  it. 

237 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

When  the  lift  had  glided  downward  the  young  man 
stood  about  in  the  upper  hall  aimlessly  a  moment. 
He  was  still  thinking  of  the  fact  that  Meloon  had 
heard  opera  in  Paris,  and  he  wa3  still  astounded  by 
the  knowledge.  It  was  having  a  new  window  opened 
— he  couldn't  understand.  "  Why,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  I  thought  he  had  never  been  even  to  Boston  before, 
and  as  for  New  York — "  he  whistled  and  went  back 
to  his  room. 

Meloon,  still  yielding  to  his  impulses,  appeared  at 
the  theatre  entrance  before  the  doors  were  opened. 
He  saw  the  placard :  "  Standing  room  only."  He 
liked  to  be  hustled  about  by  the  people ;  he  liked  the 
wavering  brilliance  of  the  electric  lights.  He  went 
and  looked  at  a  picture  of  Hildreth  as  Lohengrin, 
and  thought  that  he  had  never  seen  any  man  so 
beautiful,  any  masculine  face  so  charming.  He 
didn't  wonder  that  the  women  fell  in  love  with  him. 
He  thought  in  a  confused  way  of  what  he  had  just 
been  told  about  the  type-written  letters.  And  so 
Billy  was  interested  in  them  ?  Women  liked  novelty 
and  mystery. 

By  this  time  the  doors  were  open,  and  Meloon 
passed  in.  He  allowed  the  usher  to  conduct  him  to 
his  back  seat  behind  the  pillar,  and  he  sat  down  in 
it  contentedly  for  the  present. 


XXX 

AT  THE  OPERA 

MELOON  watched  the  people  arrive ;  very  slowly 
they  came  at  first,  but  soon  the  rustle  and  the 
noise  of  the  pushing  down  of  seats  were  con- 
stant. The  men  of  the  orchestra  crept  into  their 
places  from  that  hole  under  the  stage  and  presently 
began  to  play,  but  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  they  had 
no  expectation  of  being  able  to  play  down  the  talk- 
ing and  laughing  all  about. 

At  last  the  boxes  began  to  fill  with  women,  who 
threw  back  light-colored  silk  cloaks  that  their  jewels 
might  gleam  unhidden,  and  who  graciously  allowed 
the  men  in  the  chairs  behind  to  lean  forward  and 
hear  what  it  pleased  them  to  say. 

Meloon  felt  as  if  he  were  in  another  world.  He 
thought  of  his  farm  among  those  still,  white  moun- 
tains, and  an  added  thrill  of  excitement  went  through 
him.  Were  the  cattle  fed  and  bedded  down?  Were 
the  two  dogs  lying  by  the  fire,  and  was  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong sitting  by  the  stand  with  the  lamp  and  the 
open  Bible  upon  it? 

Which  was  real? — that  farm  or  the  scene  before 
him  now? 

And  Billy  had  said  that  if  she  lived  she  wo^ld 
come  back  for  her  dog.  She  loved  her  dog. 

The  outer  curtain  had  gone  up.  Meloon  rose  with 
his  top-coat  over  his  arm,  and  made  his  way  down 

239 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

to  one  of  the  outside  aisles  near  the  stalls  ;  he  could 
stand  here,  leaning  against  the  wall,  and  he  could 
see  the  expression  of  the  faces  on  the  stage.  He 
had  drawn  off  his  gloves,  the  constriction  on  his 
hands  was  unpleasant  to  him ;  for  the  rest  he  was 
in  proper  evening  costume,  a  tall,  military-looking 
figure  that  drew  inquiring  glances.  "Some  general, 
be  sure,"  said  a  woman  near,  after  having  examined 
him;  "no  man  who  hasn't  been  at  least  a  general  has 
a  right  to  a  mustache  like  that." 

Meloon  heard  the  remark,  and  his  eyes  sparkled 
as  he  glanced  down  at  the  speaker.  It  happened 
that  their  eyes  met,  and  the  woman  blushed  beneath 
the  elaborate  powder  on  her  face. 

The  next  moment  the  curtain  had  gone  up,  the 
orchestra  had  started  on  the  music  that  accompanies 
that  first  chorus  of  soldiers,  for  it  was  "  II  Trovatore  " 
again.  The  officer  was  tramping  back  and  forth 
across  the  stage,  singing  explanatorily,  and  his  fol- 
lowers were  joining  in  with  vociferous  monotony  at 
the  proper  time. 

Meloon  knew  the  music,  though  he  had  never 
heard  the  opera.  Nobody  appeared  to  listen  yet, 
though  the  aggressive  chatter  and  laughter  had 
ceased  when  the  curtain  went  up. 

Presently  Meloon  found  that  he  was  dreading  the 
coming  of  Leonora.  He  was  surprised  at  the  strength 
of  the  impulse  he  felt  to  leave  the  place.  But  he  did 
not  leave ;  he  walked  a  little  farther  down  the  aisle 
and  leaned  against  the  wall,  in  an  attitude  of  en- 
durance. Inwardly  he  was  mocking  at  his  weakness ; 
outwardly  he  looked  hard  and  rigid,  not  like  a  man 
who  would  be  likely  to  enjoy  an  opera  for  musical 
reasons. 

At  last,  there  she  was.  He  would  have  known  it 
240 


"THE  NEXT  MOMENT  THE  CURTAIN  HAD  GONE  UP" 


AT  THE   OPERA 

was  she  by  the  ripple  of  satisfaction  that  went  over 
the  audience;  but  there  was  no  applause.  Meloon 
moved  uneasily  as  he  heard  the  first  notes  of  her 
voice — a  delicious  voice,  strong  and  true  ;  he  remem- 
bered it  very  well.  She  was  evidently  saving  herself 
now,  but  as  evidently  she  could  not  sing  without 
something  of  fervor  in  the  mere  act  of  singing.  Me- 
loon was  aware  that  opera-glasses  were  going  up  all 
over  the  house ;  but  he  needed  no  glass ;  he  was 
tolerably  near  the  stage,  and  his  eyes  were  strong. 
Before  the  opera  was  half  over  he  had  succeeded  in 
entirely  ignoring  everybody  on  the  stage  save  Leo- 
nora and  the  troubadour;  to  their  singing  he  lis- 
tened, and  when  they  were  silent  he  shut  his  ears. 
The  house  was  alertly  applauding,  happy  to  applaud, 
as  is  the  case  sometimes.  Twice,  thrice  the  curtain 
must  be  raised  after  each  act,  and  Billy  came  a  few 
steps  forward,  her  eyes  lowered,  her  chest  heaving; 
or  she  was  led  by  Hildreth,  who  bowed  more  to  her 
than  to  the  house,  as  if  to  signify  that  he  also  was 
doing  homage  to  her ;  he  managed  to  make  this  lit- 
tle play  extremely  expressive ;  and  he  looked  really 
too  handsome  in  that  picturesque  dress,  with  his 
face  entirely  undisguised  and  apparently  not  made 
up  at  all. 

"  Bright  youth — winsome  youth,"  thought  Meloon, 
as  he  watched  the  two.  "  It  '11  be  a  miracle  if  you 
don't  succeed.  You  ought  to  score  heavily  against 
that  mysterious  type-writer." 

He  smiled  and  he  pulled  at  his  mustache.  Every- 
body now  was  buzzing ;  a  few  late-comers  followed 
ushers  down  the  aisles  and  made  rows  of  people  get 
up  and  let  them  in. 

"The  tower  scene  is  in  the  next  act,"  said  a 
young  man  standing  near  Meloon.  "That's  Hil- 
Q  241 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

dreth's  chance.  If  she's  married  to  him,  why  does 
he  keep  on  making  love  to  her  in  this  way?" 

"Acting,  you  know," said  his  fellow  young  man. 

"Acting?  Bosh!  I  know  the  real  thing  when  I 
see  it.  I  wish  I  could  get  at  the  truth  of  the  stories 
about  those  two.  The  Armstrong  is — " 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  a  slip  of  a  youth  in  theatre  uni- 
form, pushing  by  the  speaker  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  man  beyond  him.  "Are  you  Mr.  Meloon?"  he 
asked. 

Meloon  nodded.  The  two  young  men  stared  at 
him. 

The  boy  extended  a  bit  of  paper,  saying,  "  From 
Miss  Armstrong." 

The  two  young  men  stared  enviously  now,  and 
openly  nudged  each  other ;  but  Meloon  did  not  see 
them ;  he  was  reading  the  words  on  the  bit  of  paper. 

"  1  saw  you,  and,  in  my  surprise,  I  almost  tripped  on  a  note. 
If  I  had  tripped  I  couldn't  have  forgiven  you.  Won't  you 
come  behind  the  scenes?  BILLY." 

Meloon  had  decided  that  he  would  not  use  the  open- 
sesame  Hildreth  had  given  him ;  he  would  not  go 
behind  the  scenes.  Why  should  he?  He  would  take 
the  first  train  in  the  morning,  and  hasten  back  to  his 
farm.  What  did  he  want  of  opera  ? 

You  will  see  that  the  impulse  which  had  made  him 
start,  and  which  had  kept  up  its  strength  ever  since, 
was  beginning  to  wane.  An  impulse,  even  of  this 
kind,  must  subside  at  last. 

But  now  he  thrust  the  paper  into  his  waistcoat 
pocket  and  signified  to  the  boy  that  he  was  ready 
to  be  conducted.  He  followed  through  some  half- 
lighted  places,  which  he  did  not  notice  at  all  until 
the  boy  knocked  at  a  door  and  he  heard  Billy's  voice 

242 


AT  THE   OPERA 

say  "  Come  in,"  and  he  opened  the  door  and  entered  ; 
and  still  he  did  not  notice  any  surroundings,  save  that 
the  room  was  small  and  much  littered,  and  that  the 
girl  was  in  a  clinging  black  robe  and  was  deathly 
white ;  the  next  instant,  however,  he  perceived  that 
this  white  was  make-up.  She  rose  from  a  couch  and 
came  a  step  to  meet  him,  holding  out  her  hand. 


XXXI 
AN  INTERVIEW 

"  \\  THY  didn't  you  let  me  know  you  were  to  be 

W  here  to-night?"  Billy  asked,  abruptly,  and 
then,  before  any  reply  could  be  made,  she 
continued,  hurriedly,  "  Mother  is  well  ?" 

Meloon  was  holding  her  hand,  which  he  dropped 
now  as  he  responded : 

"  So  you  care  whether  she  is  well  or  not  ?" 

"  Care  ?  Yes,  greatly.  But  surely  I  have  a  right 
to  my  career,  and  she  is  always  praying  to  have  my 
career  cut  off." 

The  words  sounded  hard,  but  they  were  spoken 
deprecatingly,  almost  pleadingly ;  and  perhaps  their 
effect  was  accentuated  by  the  appearance  of  the 
speaker. 

Billy  glanced  down  at  her  dress  and  then  at  the 
mirror  opposite. 

"  You  needn't  be  alarmed  at  this  ghastliness,"  she 
said.  "  I'm  all  ready  to  go  and  kneel  down  in  front 
of  that  tower,  and  pour  forth  my  love  and  life." 

She  laughed  a  little.  She  again  struck  Meloon  as 
being  somehow  hard.  He  was  looking  at  her,  and 
he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say ;  the  more  franti- 
cally he  tried  to  think  of  something,  the  more  im- 
possible such  thought  seemed.  The  principal  thing 
in  his  mind  was  that  very  soon  it  would  be  time  for 
her  to  go  on  the  stage  ;  it  would  be  time,  and  yet  he 

244 


AN   INTERVIEW 

should  not  have  said  what  afterwards  he  would  wish 
he  had  said — not  that  he  now  had  the  least  idea 
what  that  was. 

"  How  is  my  dog  ?"  she  asked.  "  Is  he  well  and 
happy?" 

"  Yes — well  and  happy." 

"I'm  glad  of  that."  Then,  more  slowly:  "I  find 
when  I  think  of  Lotos — and  I  think  of  him  so  much — 
that  I  don't  want  him  to  be  quite  happy — without 
me." 

Meloon  smiled.  Again  he  could  not  think  what  to 
say,  and  perforce  remained  silent. 

"You  call  that  meanly  selfish,  don't  you?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  call  it  very  human.  Lotos  has  your  wrapper 
to  lie  on — the  one  you  wore  those  days  before  you 
left.  When  that  is  taken  from  him  and  he  wants  to 
lie  down,  he  goes  from  your  mother  to  me  whining 
until  we  give  it  to  him.  Then  he  is  content." 

"  Dear  Lotos !" 

Billy  spoke  just  above  her  breath.  At  this  instant 
she  did  not  seem  hard. 

Meloon  was  still  thinking  of  the  moment  when 
Leonora  must  appear  on  the  stage.  He  said,  hur- 
riedly: 

"I  suppose  you  will  end  by  marrying  Hildreth 
again  ?" 

Billy's  appearance  hardened  instantly. 

"  End  by  marrying  him  ?"  she  repeated.  "  I  hope 
that  such  a  marriage  would  not  be  an  end,  but  a  be- 
ginning. I'm  in  no  hurry  to  marry,  though.  Mr. 
Meloon,"  rising,  "  who  makes  your  butter  now  ?" 

"  Sarah  Jones,  from  the  village.  She  comes  twice 
a  week.  But  honestly,  she  doesn't  do  as  well  as  you 
did — she  leaves  some  streaks  of  buttermilk  in." 

245 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

"  I'm  glad  of  it.     That  causes  you  to  miss  me." 

Meloon  made  a  step  forward.  He  stooped  and 
took  her  hand. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "that  makes  me  miss  you." 

He  was  flushed,  and  his  eyes  were  brilliant.  He 
looked  down  at  her  hand,  he  turned  it  palm  upward, 
and  bent  his  head  as  if  he  were  going  to  kiss  that 
palm,  but  a  light  tap  sounded  on  the  door.  He 
dropped  the  hand,  straightened  himself,  and  flung 
back  his  shoulders. 

"  It's  time  for  Leonora,"  said  Billy.  "  Can  you  find 
your  way  back  ?  You  know  I  love  my  mother ;  you 
mustn't  think  I  don't."  Then,  hesitating  :  "Where 
are  you  stopping  ?" 

He  told  her  and  she  hurried  off. 

Meloon  did  find  his  way  .back,  and  took  up  his 
position  in  nearly  the  same  place. 

He  had  not  suspected  that  Billy  could  sing  as  she 
sang  the  rest  of  her  part.  And,  indeed,  the  papers 
said  the  next  morning  that  she  excelled  herself,  that 
she  had  never  sung  so  superbly  before;  and  the 
papers  this  time  were  correct.  She  never  had  done 
so  well.  She  was  aware  herself  of  this  fact. 

The  next  morning,  to  his  surprise,  Meloon  found 
on  waking  that  his  intention  to  go  home  immediate- 
ly had  faded  greatly.  But  in  order  to  keep  up  a 
semblance  of  it,  he  made  a  pretence  of  studying  the 
time-table  in  reference  to  trains  to  New  Hampshire. 

While  he  was  doing  this,  there  was  a  tap  at  his 
door.  A  special  messenger  had  brought  him  a  note 
from  Miss  Armstrong: 

"  I  should  like  to  have  you  call  on  me  if  you  are  at  leisure. 
A  theatre  dressing-room  is  a  poor  place,  and  I  have  so  many 
questions  to  ask  you." 

246 


AN   INTERVIEW 

Of  course  he  went,  on  the  very  heels  of  the  mes- 
senger, for  he  still  had  that  indefinite  plan  of  start- 
ing for  New  Hampshire  by  a  later  train. 

Miss  Armstrong  was  in  her  private  parlor  at  the 
Brunswick.  There  was  a  girl  sitting  with  her  when 
Meloon  entered — a  girl  with  a  great  deal  of  hair  and 
showy  eyes,  and  a  curious  resemblance  to  Vane  Hil- 
dreth.  It  was  his  sister  Bashy.  When  Meloon  was 
presented,  she  held  out  her  hand  with  a  certain  boy- 
ishly frank  way  she  had,  and  laughed,  as  she  said : 

"I  ought  to  know  you,  Mr.  Meloon";  then,  ex- 
planatorily, "because  I've  heard  Billy  speak  of  you 
so  often.  I'm  Billy's  shadow  lately.  She  thinks  I'll 
go  to  the  devil  if  she  doesn't  keep  watch  of  me.  We 
certainly  must  be  great  friends,  Mr.  Meloon." 

She  seemed  to  be  amused  about  something. 

Meloon  smiled,  but  he  did  not  share  in  the  girl's 
amusement.  He  was  glad  to  see  her  leave,  as  she 
did  almost  immediately. 

"I  suppose  it  is  natural  for  you  to  be  intimate 
with  Miss  Hildreth,"  he  remarked. 

He  had  not  yet  seated  himself,  for  Billy  was  mov- 
ing somewhat  restlessly  about  the  room.  She  had 
in  her  hand  some  sheets  of  paper,  and  Meloon  saw 
some  type-written  words. 

"  It's  one  of  those  letters,"  he  thought ;  "  I  sup- 
pose she  has  had  a  fresh  one  this  morning." 

He  walked  to  a  window,  and  stood  there  a  mo- 
ment looking  into  the  street. 

Presently  he  was  aware  that  Billy  was  standing 
near  him.  He  turned  somewhat  abruptly  towards 
her. 

"  You  don't  look  very  gracious,"  she  began;  "per- 
haps I  was  wrong  to  send  for, you." 

"  Wrong  ?  Oh  no.  I  suppose  I  seem  awkward  ; 
247 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

you  see,  I'm  an  old  farmer,  and  I'm  out  of  place  here 
with  a  prima  donna.  If  you  had  never  done  house- 
work for  me,  or  had  never  become  a  prima  donna — 
but  the  two—" 

Meloon  paused. 

Billy  had  sat  down  near  him. 

"  You  didn't  look  like  a  farmer  last  night,"  she 
said.  "  I  thought  you  might  be  some  hereditary 
prince,  or  duke.  I  was  quite  awed." 

"Thanks.  You  had  never  seen  me  in  anything 
but  denim  jumper  and  overalls.  My  real  appearance 
is  that  of  a  duke;  you've  just  discovered  that.  One 
woman  thought  me  a  general — at  least,  I  had  pro- 
cured a  general's  mustache  somewhere.  After  this, 
how  can  I  go  back  to  that  farm  ?  I  never  dreamed 
of  being  such  a  success." 

"  Yes,  I  was  dazzled." 

Billy  still  held  those  sheets  of  paper ;  she  had  fold- 
ed them  carefully  into  a  small  compass.  She  raised 
her  eyes  to  Meloon's  face,  but  meeting  his  eyes,  they 
glanced  off  again. 

"  Did  I  sing  well  ?"  she  asked,  abruptly. 

Meloon  hesitated. 

"  Then  I  didn't  ?"  she  cried,  quickly,  with  an  acute 
question  in  her  voice.  "  I  was  mistaken.  I  felt  that 
I  \vas  doing  well.  The  knowledge  that  you  were 
listening  had  a  strange  effect  on  me— it  was  like  a 
spur — but  a  cordial  spur — if  you  know  what  that 
might  be.  In  fact,  I  sang  for  you  after  I  saw  you." 

Having  spoken  thus  hurriedly,  Billy  added,  more 
deliberately :  "  I  have  always  thought  you  an  excel- 
lent critic." 

Meloon  leaned  forward  as  he  responded. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  you  sang,"  he  began.  Then 
all  at  once  he  resumed  a  stiff,  upright  position.  His 

248 


AN   INTERVIEW 

eyes  wandered  about  the  room.  "  You  suited  me," 
he  said,  coldly. 

Billy  dropped  her  eyes  and  began  to  twist  the 
paper  she  held. 

"  I  mean  to  sing  as  long  as  my  voice  holds  out — 
that's  my  plan." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  happy  in  singing  ?" 

"  Happy  ?  I  don't  know.  It's  wonderfully  excit- 
ing— I  love  it.  I  won't  give  it  up.  I  want  you  to 
tell  mother  that  I  love  her,  but  I  won't  give  up  sing- 
ing. But  that  isn't  why  I  sent  for  you." 

Here  Billy  paused.  She  rose  from  her  chair  and 
walked  the  length  of  the  room  and  back  again.  Me- 
loon  rose  also.  The  subtle  excitement  which  this 
girl's  presence  produced  had  now  something  added 
to  it.  What  was  she  going  to  say?  Would  she  con- 
sult him  about  those  letters?  That  would,  indeed, 
be  grotesque. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  what  you  thought  about 
something,"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  know  that  my  opinion  is  specially  valua- 
ble," he  returned  ;  "  but  perhaps  you  are  going  to 
inquire  about  the  kind  of  soil  suitable  for  timothy." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me,  please  !"  Billy's  voice  was 
unsteady. 

"  Laugh  at  you  ?     No — I'm  laughing  at  myself." 

And  Meloon  did  laugh  bitterly. 


XXXII 
TO   REMEMBER 

BILLY  looked  at  him  in  a  puzzled  way. 
"  I  know  it's  of  no  use  to  consult  any  one," 
she  said,  "  for  we  really  have  to  decide  things 
for  ourselves.     All  the  same,  we  like  to  ask  advice, 
don't  we  ?" 

Meloon  nodded. 

"It's  about  Vane  —  Mr.  Hildreth  —  and  me.  He 
keeps  wanting  me  to  marry  him." 

She  spoke  like  a  perplexed  child ;  she  was  watching 
her  companion's  face. 

It  was  Meloon  who  now  began  to  walk.  But  he 
only  took  one  turn,  and  then  he  came  back  in  front 
of  the  girl. 

"  Well  ?"  he  said ;  "  and  why  do  you  hesitate  ? 
Half  the  people  seem  to  think  you  are  his  wife  al- 
ready?" 

"Do  they?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  don't  care  for  that.  I  wish  I  knew  what  to 
do." 

"  You  know  if  you  love  him." 

"How  do  I  know?  I'm  fond  of  him  in  a  way. 
He  is  very  lovable." 

"  Is  he  ?" 

"  He  certainly  is.  Why  do  you  frown,  Mr. 
Meloon?" 

250 


TO    REMEMBER 

Meloon  drew  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"Am  I  frowning?     I'm  trying  to  think." 

He  evidently  continued  to  try  for  a  moment  in 
silence.  Finally  he  said,  with  an  appearance  of  as- 
perity: 

"When  a  woman  is  fond  of  a  man,  she  is  willing 
to  marry  him,  isn't  she  ?" 

"  She  may  not  be  fond  of  him  that  way." 

"Oh  !" 

"  You  don't  seem  to  understand.  I'm  fond  of  him 
after  a  fashion,  and  he  thinks  he  loves  me,  and  shall 
love  me  forever."  Billy  paused  to  laugh,  and  she  also 
laughed  bitterly.  "I  think  the  marriage  is  advisable, 
because  we  are  both  of  the  same  profession,  and  we 
can  help  each  other.  And  I'm  used  to  him." 

"  I  see  you've  made  up  your  mind,"  said  Meloon. 

"  And  you  won't  advise  me  ?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

He  looked  about  for  his  hat,  found  it,  and  walked 
to  the  door  with  it  in  his  hand. 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Meloon." 

Her  voice  went  to  his  heart. 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Armstrong." 

He  turned  his  face  towards  her,  but  he  did  not 
look  at  her.  Then  he  opened  the  door  and  closed  it 
behind  him.  He  found  his  way  to  the  elevator.  As 
he  stood  there  waiting  its  coming,  Bashy  walked 
quickly  along  the  corridor  and  paused  at  his  side. 
Whatever  had  amused  her  in  Miss  Armstrong's  par- 
lor seemed  to  be  amusing  her  now. 

"  Mr.  Meloon,"  she  said,  "you  seem  to  me  like  a 
man  who  is  blind  with  one  eye  and  who  can't  see 
with  the  other." 

Then  she  burst  out  laughing,  and  Meloon  stared 
at  her  in  perplexity. 

251 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"No,  of  course  you  don't;  if  you  did  know,  you 
wouldn't  be  so  blind  ;  but  I  can't  talk  to  you  and 
find  understanding,  too.  I  wouldn't  have  said  as 
much  as  this  only  that  I  think  you  are  an  honest 
man  and  no  fool.  All  the  men  I've  known  so  far 
have  been  either  fools  or  knaves.  You  don't  seem 
to  be  either.  The  oracle  has  spoken."  And  she 
tripped  away. 

The  next  moment  the  elevator  came  noiselessly 
sliding  up,  stopped,  and  Hildreth  stepped  from  it. 

"  Hullo,  Meloon  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Aren't  you 
making  an  early  call  ?" 

"  It  didn't  strike  me  as  early,  and  it  can't  be,  since 
you're  out." 

Meloon  looked  anxiously  at  the  bottom  of  the 
elevator,  which  had  gone  up  farther.  He  was  cal- 
culating the  time  when  it  would  arrive  on  its  re- 
turn descent ;  he  came  immediately  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  could  not  possibly  wait  for  it,  and  then  hur- 
ried off  down  the  stairs. 

Arriving  on  the  street  he  stood  undecided.  He 
was  now  mocking  at  himself  for  having  come  to 
Boston  at  all. 

"  Egregious  old  fool !"  he  repeated  over  and  over. 

He  strayed  along  down  Boylston  Street,  with  his 
hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  overcoat,  his  eyes  wan- 
dering over  the  faces  of  the  people  he  met.  He  felt 
as  if,  without  ever  having  had  anything,  he  had  lost 
everything,  and  he  was  making  great  efforts  to  un- 
derstand his  state  of  mind. 

He  came  to  the  old  Public  Library  building,  and  saw 
that  there  were  mammoth  oxen  on  exhibition  there. 

"Oxen  are  in  my  line,"  he  thought;  "  I'll  go  in  and 
see  them." 


TO   REMEMBER 

But  the  place  where  he  paused  was  in  front  of 
the  cage  of  the  Bengal  tiger.  The  animal  was  pac- 
ing back  and  forth,  sometimes  twitching  the  end  of 
his  tail.  He  gazed  out  through  his  bars,  his  face 
like  beautiful  striped  thick-piled  velvet.  His  yellow- 
brown  eyes  looked  right  into  Meloon's,  and  a  keen 
thrill  of  sympathy  for  the  magnificent  brute  went 
through  the  man. 

"  You've  missed  your  destiny,  old  fellow,"  he  said, 
aloud ;  and  he  leaned  on  the  iron  bar  and  extended 
his  hand.  The  animal  snarled,  and  his  white  teeth 
flashed  into  sight. 

"  Don't  you  see  he's  marked  dangerous  ?"  sharply 
asked  an  attendant.  "  Besides,  he's  hungry.  There's 
an  awful  lot  of  fools  in  the  world." 

"  You're  right,  my  friend,"  returned  Meloon,  cor- 
dially, "and  I'm  one  of  the  biggest  fools  in  the  lot." 

Then  Meloon  hastened  down  to  his  hotel  on  Brat- 
tle Street,  and  began  to  put  his  things  into  his  trav- 
elling-bag. All  the  time  he  was  doing  this,  he  was 
asking  this  question:  "What  did  that  Hildreth  girl 
mean  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  I'm  not  blind  at  all ;  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  see  with  exceeding  plainness.  I 
can  see  straight  on  to  the  end." 

Suddenly  he  dropped  the  handkerchiefs  he  had 
taken.  He  slammed  the  bag  down  on  the  floor.  He 
stood  up  straight  and  flung  out  his  hand,  his  face 
flushing  deeply. 

"  Could  she  have  meant  that  ?"  he  cried,  aloud. 

He  walked  about  the  room.  Presently  he  said, 
with  resolution : 

"  I  will  find  out."  He  took  his  hat.  He  paused 
at  the  door,  and  added,  cynically:  "I  fully  realize 
what  a  donkey  I  am,  and  the  realization  is  such  a 
comfort!" 

253 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

He  hurried  back  to  the  Brunswick.  He  had  whiled 
away  precisely  four  hours  since  he  was  there  before. 
The  servant  was  nearly  certain  that  Miss  Armstrong 
had  just  gone  out  with  Mr.  Hildreth,  and  he  re- 
luctantly went  to  make  inquiries. 

On  the  contrary,  Miss  Armstrong  had  just  re- 
turned and  would  receive  Mr.  Meloon.  He  found 
her  standing  by  the  window.  As  she  turned  towards 
him  he  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"Why  do  you  cry  out  like  that?"  she  demanded, 
giving  him  her  hand  as  if  she  had  not  seen  him  a 
few  hours  before. 

"  You  are  so  pale — you're  as  white  as  if  you  were 
Leonora,  whose  lover  is  to  be  killed." 

"That's  odd,"  she  smiled,  rather  fixedly,  "when 
the  opposite  is  the  case  with  me." 

"The  opposite  ?" 

Meloon  was  still  holding  her  hand,  and  doing  so 
with  an  air  that  seemed  to  say  that  he  would  not  re- 
linquish it.  Before  she  could  reply  he  kissed  the 
fingers  he  held — kissed  them  several  times.  If  it 
were  possible,  she  grew  yet  paler. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  opposite  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  mean  that  my  lover  is  not  going  to  be  killed ; 
he  is  going  to  live,  and  live  with  me.  You  are  very 
stupid,  Mr.  Meloon." 

She  withdrew  her  hand.  There  seemed  something 
like  terror  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him. 

"And  who  is  your  lover?"  he  asked,  in  a  dull 
way. 

"  You  know  very  well." 

"Hildreth?" 

"  Yes." 

"  He  has  just  been  here  ?" 

"  Yes.  You  know  I  asked  your  advice,  Mr.  Me- 
254 


TO   REMEMBER 

loon ;  I  sent  for  you  that  I  might  ask  it ;  and  I  un- 
derstand that— that — oh,  Mr.  Meloon,  why  do  you 
look  at  me  so  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  I'm  looking  at  you." 

Meloon  felt  his  throat  and  tongue  to  be  stiffening. 
In  this  woman's  eyes  he  now  saw  something  that 
explained  clearly  to  him  what  Bathsheba  Hildreth 
had  meant  when  she  had  called  him  blind. 

His  superior  age,  his  belief  in  what  Billy's  mother 
had  told  him,  everything  in  reason  had  made  him 
blind.  But  now  some  things  in  the  past  stood  out 
brilliantly  in  a  new  light.  He  had,  in  his  blindness, 
nearly  trampled  on  his  very  life. 

"  Billy,"  he  began.  For  the  moment  he  could  say 
nothing  more  ;  he  could  only  look  at  her.  He  began 
again : 

"Of  course  you've  known  all  the  time  that  I  loved 
you." 

"  No— no." 

She  could  not  tell  him  what  her  mother  had  told 
her,  and  believed. 

"You  must  have  known  it,"  he  said,  "  and  you 
tried  to  prevent  my  speaking — your  whole  attitude 
signified  that  you  would  not  have  me  speak — that  I 
was  too  old — but  you  hated  to  be  obliged  to  tell  me 
that — that  you  couldn't  possibly  do  more  than  be 
sorry  for  me." 

Meloon  was  now  speaking  very  fast. 

"  However,  all  that  is  no  matter  now ;  all  that  is 
over.  It  is  I  who  am  your  lover — if  you'll  let  me 
be  your  lover.  I  was  so  old,  you  know,  I  dared  not 
speak  ;  and  now  I  can  never  tell  you  strongly  enough 
how  I  love  you — how  I  love  you."  He  dwelt  on  the 
words.  It  was  wonderful  how  thoroughly  he  had 
forgotten  that  he  was  not  a  young  man. 

255 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

Billy  stood  leaning  against  the  window- casing. 
Her  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  her  companion's  face. 

"Could  you  love  me  a  little?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  could  love  you  with  all 
my  heart." 

"Ah!" 

As  he  uttered  this  exclamation  he  advanced  a  step, 
but  she  raised  her  hand. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  before?"  she  asked. 
Her  voice  was  husky. 

"  Why  ?  Why  ?  I  told  you.  Your  mother  said 
you  loved  Hildreth — and  then  I  was  only  an  old 
farmer — " 

Billy  interrupted.  "  And  I've  been  trying  for 
more  than  a  year  to  keep  you  from  suspecting  that 
—that—" 

"  That  what  ?"  with  peremptory  eagerness. 

"  That  I  loved  you.  No,  don't  come  near.  It's  all 
horrible.  I  sent  for  you  this  morning.  I  was  un- 
womanly, I  suppose  ;  but  I  wanted  to  ask  your  ad- 
vice about  Vane ;  I  felt  sure,  if  you  cared  for  me, 
you  would  be  obliged  to  say  something — you  said 
nothing — you  seemed  to  advise  me  to  accept  Vane, 
or  I  thought  so." 

"  You  said  you  were  fond  of  Vane." 

*'  Yes,  I  know  I  said  so ;  I  am.  I  think  I  shall 
always  be  fond  of  him,  in  a  way." 

Billy  seemed  to  speak  with  difficulty.  She  put  out 
her  hand,  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair,  drew  it  to  her, 
and  sat  down.  She  continued  to  look  with  a  sort 
of  helpless  pleading  at  Meloon.  As  for  him,  he  won- 
dered what  was  the  matter.  To  his  mind  everything 
seemed  clear  now,  since  they  understood  each  other. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  Meloon  made 
an  impatient  gesture. 

256 


TO   REMEMBER 

"  Send  them  away,  whoever  they  are,"  commanded 
Billy,  and  he  obeyed  mechanically.  He  did  not 
know  why  he  felt  so  little  exhilaration.  What  could 
depress  him  since  he  had  heard  her  confession  ? 

He  stood  looking  down  at  her. 

"Why  do  you  stay?"  she  asked,  presently;  "why 
don't  you  go  ?"  repeating  her  question. 

He  was  more  and  more  bewildered.  What  did  it 
all  mean  ? 

"  Is  it  that  you're  afraid  I  shall  not  want  you  to 
sing?"  he  asked,  suddenly.  "I  couldn't  expect  that 
you  would  wish  to  give  up  your  life  work,  just  be- 
cause you're  a  woman.  I  shouldn't  oppose  you." 

"  No,  oh  no,  it  isn't  that,"  she  answered.  "  It's 
something  quite  different.  I  find  it  very  hard  to 
tell  you.  I  must  seem  very  weak.  You're  altogether 
mistaken  in  me." 

She  stopped  speaking,  but  she  appeared  to  be  try- 
ing to  continue.  There  came  an  expression  of  posi- 
tive agony  to  her  face.  She  was  very  quiet,  however, 
and  held  her  hands  closely  pressed  together. 

Suddenly  she  raised  her  eyes  to  Meloon  and  smiled 
with  a  wistful  brilliance. 

"  Then,  after  all,  you  do  love  me?"  she  said  ;  "you 
love  me,  and  I  shall  always  have  that  to  remember." 


XXXIII 
NO   MORE   UNCERTAINTY 

O,  you  needn't  come  near  me,"  Billy  went  on. 
"We're  not  going  to  be  happy.  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  look  as  if  we  were  going  to  be  happy. 
I  can't  marry  you.  I  wish  you  had  told  me  long  ago 
that  you  loved  me.  I  don't  understand  it.  As  for 
me,"  pathetically,  "  I  was  occupied  in  trying  to  keep 
my  secret.  It  seems  that  I  kept  it  very  well  from 
everybody  but  Bashy.  I'm  sure  that  Bashy  knows, 
though  she  has  never  spoken.  I'm  talking  a  great 
deal,  am  I  not  ?  Don't  interrupt  me.  You  and  I 
won't  talk  together  again,  I  think.  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  stand.  There,  sit  down  near  me — must 
you  hold  my  hand?  Well,  it  will  do  no  harm  just 
this  once — " 

"This  once!"  ejaculated  Meloon  ;  "the  hand  be- 
longs to  me." 

Billy  smiled  at  him  ;  then  she  raised  his  hand  and 
kissed  it,  barely  touching  it. 

"  I've  hoped  that  the  time  would  come  when  I 
could  tell  you  I  love  you,"  she  went  on,"  but  I  didn't 
think  it  would.  How  I  do  dread  to  say  what  I  have 
to  say !" 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  gazing  at  him. 

"  I  wonder  if  you'll  despise  me." 

He  made  no  reply.  In  spite  of  all  she  had  said 
and  looked,  the  inhibition  in  her  manner  was  so  great 

258 


NO   MORE  UNCERTAINTY 

that  he  restrained  his  desire  to  speak.  He  felt  very 
sure  that  presently  he  would  be  able  to  banish  all  her 
fancies  ;  for  they  were  fancies,  of  course.  She  was 
worn  and  tired  with  her  exhausting  work,  and  she 
did  not  see  things  as  they  were.  He  felt  that  with 
one  brush  of  his  powerful  arm  he  could  sweep  away 
all  the  cobwebs. 

"  I  wish  it  wasn't  so  hard,"  she  said.  Then  she  sat 
up  straight.  But  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  hands 
that  now  lay  folded  on  her  lap. 

"When  you  went  away  this  morning,"  she  con- 
tinued, "Vane  came.  You  met  him,  I  know.  I'm 
sure  you  can't  understand  the  mood  I  was  in.  You 
had  just  made  me  think  that  you  believed  I  might 
marry  Vane ;  at  least  I  was  sure  you  didn't  care  for 
me,  only  in  your  kind,  helpful  way.  Vane  asked  me 
again  to  marry  him ;  he  begged  and  pleaded.  No 
matter  what  he  said.  He,  at  least,  loved  me.  I 
couldn't  doubt  that.  Suddenly  I  asked  myself : 
'Why  not  say  yes?'  Perhaps  to  be  his  wife  wouJd 
help  me  to  forget  some  things.  So  I  said  yes.  I — " 

Meloon  rose  from  his  chair.  He  could  sit  still  no 
longer. 

"  You  can  explain  to  him.  He  will  release  you — 
he  will  understand — 

"  No  ;  he  can't  release  me,"  said  Billy,  "  even  if  he 
would.  We  went  out  and  were  married.  He  had 
arranged  so  that  it  might  be  done  immediately  if 
he  could  get  my  consent.  And  I  wished  to  be  mar- 
ried privately.  I  don't  want  it  known  at  present. 
Many  people  already  think  I  am  his  wife.  We  shall 
go  on  much  the  same.  It's  a  pretty  story,  isn't  it  ? 
Oh,  Mr.  Meloon !" 

For  Meloon  was  at  the  door  with  his  hand  on  the 
latch.  He  turned  to  say  : 

259 


THE    MELUON    FARM 

"  Yes,  it's  a  very  pretty  story.     I  will  go  now." 

Hilly  rose  and  ran  to  his  side. 

"  What!"  she  cried;  "are  you  going  like  that?" 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  sleeve,  but  she  withdrew 
it  instantly  and  stood  gazing  up  at  him. 

"Certainly,  like  this.     What  other  way  is  there  ?" 

"  But  are  you  sure  we  are  friends,  Mr.  Meloon  ? 
How  could  I  live  if  I  could  not  feel  that  you  were 
friendly  with  me?" 

It  was  a  hard  moment  for  the  man.  He  was  silent 
for  a  space,  looking  over  her  head  through  the  win- 
dow behind  her. 

He  thought  of  several  things  he  might  say,  things 
that  would  be  excellent,  and  fine  to  remember  when 
he  recalled  this  interview,  and  he  would  be  quite 
likely  to  recall  it.  But  the  difficulty  was  that  he 
could  not  say  one  of  them.  He  had  never  before 
quite  known  the  full  meaning  of  the  phrase,  "His 
tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth." 

As  he  could  not  speak,  he  turned  the  latch  that 
he  was  still  holding  and  shut  the  door  behind 
him. 

He  walked  rather  blindly  a  few  steps  and  paused 
as  a  voice  in  front  of  him  asked,  "Going  down  ?" 

It  was  the  elevator  man.  Meloon  entered  the  ele- 
vator, and  when  it  stopped  he  walked  very  circum- 
spectly out  into  the  street,  with  that  careful  control 
of  his  limbs  that  a  man  sometimes  exerts  when  he 
is  partially  intoxicated. 

After  a  time  he  found  that  he  was  in  the  Public 
Garden  and  that  the  wind  was  sweeping  roughly 
over  the  open  space.  He  paused  and  fastened  his 
coat  tightly  about  him,  trying  to  look  at  the  people 
hurrying  by  him.  Where  were  they  all  going?  He 
wondered  about  that.  And  pn  hups  some  of  them 

260 


NO   MORE   UNCERTAINTY 

were  suffering.  As  for  him,  he  could  not  tell  whether 
this  were  suffering  that  he  felt.  There  was  a  phase 
of  exhilaration  in  it,  as  of  fire.  After  all,  Billy  loved 
him  ;  and  he  had  been  a  blind  fool.  Well,  he  would 
be  blind  no  longer;  he  would — here  he  stopped  in 
his  walk,  his  head  bent  down  to  keep  the  wind  from 
blowing  his  hat  off.  Why,  that  couldn't  be  true  that 
she  had  told  him  about  having  married  Hildreth. 
Had  she  told  him  such  a  story  ?  He  would  make 
sure,  at  any  rate,  and  he  could  not  trust  his  own 
memory.  So  he  pushed  his  hat  harder  down  on  his 
head  and  hurried  back  to  the  hotel  he  had  just  left. 
He  would  not  send  up  his  name  ;  he  went  to  the 
door  of  Billy's  sitting-room  and  knocked.  He  heard 
some  one  walking  about  within.  He  knocked  again  ; 
the  door  opened  quickly,  and  Bathsheba,  in  street 
dress,  appeared.  She  was  apparently  going  out, 
but  she  paused,  staring  at  him.  Suddenly  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?  Why  don't  you  go  away  and 
hang  yourself?  Or  are  you  too  stupid  to  do  even 
that  ?" 

Then  she  went  by  him  and  disappeared  along  the 
corridor. 

She  had  left  the  door  open  and  Meloon  entered. 
Now  that  he  had  come  he  was  conscious  for  an 
instant  only  of  a  devouring  desire  to  see  Billy  again. 
She  came  forward  from  the  inner  room. 

Meloon  advanced  impetuously  as  she  stopped  in 
surprise.  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  as 
he  whispered  some  words  which  he  never  dared  to 
recall  afterwards. 

For  the  first  instant  she  did  not  withdraw  herself, 
but  it  was  only  for  an  instant.  She  stepped  back 
and  leaned  a  hand  on  the  table. 

261 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  under  her  breath,  "don't  do 
anything  that  will  change  my  idea  of  you." 

Meloon  was  silent.  He  was  trying  to  make  out 
clearly  why  he  had  come  back.  Then  he  said : 

"  I  wanted  to  be  sure ;  I  wanted  to  make  no  mis- 
take. After  I  had  left  you  and  had  walked  about,  it 
began  to  seem  as  if  it  couldn't  be  true  ;  that  I  hadn't 
heard  rightly.  I'm  so  stupid,  you  know — a  stupid 
old  farmer." 

He  smiled  and  raised  his  hand  to  his  forehead, 
looking  at  her. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Meloon,"  she  cried,  "  are  you  ill  ?" 

"  111  ?     Not  the  least  in  the  world.     Is  it  true?" 

"  Is  what  true  ?" 

"That  you  are  married  to  Hildreth?" 

"  Yes." 

Meloon  put  his  hand  to  his  head  again. 

u  And  there's  something  else.  It's  true  that  you 
love  me?" 

"  Yes." 

Meloon  said  nothing  more.  He  turned  away 
directly,  and  a  half-hour  later  he  was  in  his  room  on 
Brattle  Street,  sitting  on  the  side  of  his  bed  "adjust- 
ing himself,"  as  he  called  it.  And  he  needed  a  great 
deal  of  adjusting,  he  found. 

He  had  let  the  one  thing  he  most  wanted  slip  away 
from  him ;  and  he  couldn't  see  now  that  he  had  been 
to  blame. 

There  was  nothing  left  for  him  but  to  go  home  and 
bear  it.  He  supposed  there  must  be  some  manly  way 
of  bearing  things;  perhaps  he  could  find  that  way. 

He  did  not  know  how  long  he  sat  on  the  bed  with 
his  face  in  his  hands,  but  at  last  he  rose  and  began 
to  put  the  few  things  he  had  brought  into  his  bag. 
No  more  city  and  no  more  opera  for  him.  The  town 

262 


NO   MORE  UNCERTAINTY 

had  already  begun  to  stifle  him.  He  wanted  a  long 
breath  of  the  air  that  blew  down  through  The  Notch. 
Just  as  he  was  turning  the  key  in  the  lock  of  his 
gripsack,  steps  hurried  up  to  his  door,  and  then  there 
was  a  quick  knock. 


XXXIV 

A  SAVING  GRACE 

MELOON  hesitated.  He  felt  that  there  could 
be  but  one  person  who  would  come  to  his 
room,  and  that  person  it  would  be  hard  to  see. 
He  drew  his  hand  down  over  his  face  and  called  out, 
"  Come  in,"  forgetting  that  the  door  was  locked. 
Then  he  hastened  to  pull  back  the  bolt,  and  Hildreth 
sprang  in  like  a  boy  whose  spirits  are  at  their  highest, 
and  who  must  share  them  with  some  one.  He  held 
out  his  hand  and  shook  Meloon's  hand  violently ;  his 
face  was  glowing,  his  eyes  sparkled.  He  threw  open 
his  fur-edged  overcoat  and  began  to  pace  about  the 
bit  of  a  room. 

"  I  was  awfully  afraid  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  find 
you,"  he  began.  "  I  felt  that  I  must  see  you,  old  fel- 
low. I  simply  couldn't  have  you  go  without  telling 
you — though  it's  a  secret — from  the  public,  you  know 
— without  telling  you  that  she's  my  wife.  We  were 
married  to-day.  Jove  !  I  can't  believe  it  !  I  feel  as 
if  I  were  drunk  on  something — some  brew  that  never 
was  tasted  before  by  mortal.  I  say,  old  man,  let's 
shake  again." 

He  caught  Meloon's  hand  for  the  second  time,  and 
swung  it  up  and  down. 

"  Mind,  it's  a  secret,  you  know — don't  go  telling  it 
to  the  newspapers.  It  mustn't  get  out.  Things  are 
to  go  on  just  as  they  are  for  the  present,  Billy  says. 

264 


A  SAVING  GRACE 

I'm  bound  to  respect  her  wishes,  of  course.  But 
I  declare  I  feel  as  if  it  were  written  all  over  me,  and 
that  everybody  'd  know.  I'm  the  happiest  man  in 
the  world.  I  hope  I  can  keep  my  head  when  I  sing 
with  her  to-night.  I'd  like  to  sing  better  than  I  ever 
did  in  my  life,  but  very  likely  my  voice  '11  all  go  to 
smash.  Do  you  think  it  will  ?" 

"How  can  I  tell?" 

Meloon  was  leaning  with  his  back  to  the  window, 
his  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets,  watching  his  com- 
panion as  he  moved  hurriedly  here  and  there. 

"  Hope  you'll  stay  to  hear  and  see — eh?" 

"  No,  I'm  going  home." 

Meloon  drew  out  his  watch. 

"  Sorry  to  turn  you  away,"  he  went  on  ;  "  but  I 
haven't  any  time  to  lose  if  I  catch  my  train." 

"  Is  that  so  ?     Too  bad.     I  say,  aren't  you  well  ?" 

"  Perfectly  well ;  not  used  to  late  hours,  I  sup- 
pose.' 

"Very  likely,"  was  the  response  from  Hildreth. 
"  I  say,  let  me  go  to  the  station  with  you.  I'll  run 
out  and  get  a  cab." 

And  he  did  go.  He  could  not  stop  talking  of  his 
happiness. 

"  Mind  you,"  he  said,  as  he  sat  opposite  Meloon, 
"  I'm  not  speaking  to  any  one  else  like  this  ;  I'm 
bottled  up  tight,  except  to  you.  Good  heavens ! 
Do  you  suppose  any  other  man  was  ever  so  happy?" 

"Scores  of  them,"  was  the  response. 

Meloon  had  drawn  his  coat  collar  as  high  as  it 
would  go  ;  he  wished  that  he  had  something  to 
shield  his  eyes  from  the  horrible  brilliance  of  the 
face  near  him.  He  was  calling  himself  a  monster 
because  a  pang  of  hatred  shot  through  his  heart. 
He  thought  of  flinging  open  the  carriage  door  and 

265 


THE   ME  LOON   FARM 

tossing  out,  under  the  trampling  feet  of  horses,  this 
insolently  happy  man,  who  had  what  did  not  belong 
to  him. 

Under  the  stress  of  this  thought  Meloon  sat  rigid. 
He  heard  Hildreth's  words,  and  comprehended  them 
with  some  especial  sense  of  which  he  was  hardly 
cognizant.  And  all  the  time  that  beast  within  him 
was  ravening  for  Hildreth's  life.  Why  should  Hil- 
dreth  have  what  didn't  belong  to  him  ?  That  was 
the  phrase  that  repeated  itself  so  persistently  in 
Meloon's  mind  that  he  began  to  be  afraid  of  it. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  happened  to  be  down  here,"  Hil- 
dreth  was  saying.  "You've  been  such  a  friend  to 
me  when  I  needed  just  such  a  lift  as  you  gave  me. 
I  never  shall  forget  it  of  you — never.  It's  a  god-send, 
too,  to  know  such  a  man.  I  hope  you  don't  think, 
Meloon,  that  I'm  careless,  or  shall  forget." 

Hildreth  leaned  forward  and  put  his  hand  on  his 
companion's  knee. 

"  I  wish  you'd  drop  all  that,"  said  the  other, 
roughly 

"  What— eh  ?" 

Hildreth  shrank  back,  and  the  color  mounted  to 
his  forehead. 

"  I  mean,"  went  on  Meloon,  hastily,  "  that  you  owe 
me  nothing.  You  exaggerate,  that's  all.  Here  we 
are  at  the  station.  Good-bye." 

"  But  I'm  going  in  ;  I'm  bound  to  see  the  last  of 
you." 

Hildreth  jumped  out  and  took  Meloon's  bag. 

In  a  moment  the  two  were  walking  along  the 
platform.  The  elder  man  had  begun  to  feel  that 
he  should  never  be  alone ;  a  hot  hand  seemed  to 
have  seized  his  brain,  and  it  was  holding  and  com- 
pressing it.  He  looked  sideways  at  Hildreth  ;  with- 

266 


A  SAVING  GRACE 

drew  his  eyes ;  then  looked  again.  Why  should  Hil- 
dreth  have  what  did  not  belong  to  him  ? 

Without  thinking  where  they  were  going,  the  two 
walked  far  down  the  platform.  Meloon's  only  dis- 
tinct thought  was  the  question  as  to  when  he  should 
get  rid  of  this  young  man  who  was  so  outrageously 
flaunting  his  happiness  before  him. 

"  Billy  and  I  will  go  up  to  the  farm  in  the  sum- 
mer," he  heard  Hildreth  say;  "there's  nothing  I 
should  like  so  well  —  and  Billy's  mother  is  there. 
You'll  let  us  come,  won't  you  ?  And  Lotos,  dear  old 
dog !  Is  that  engine  coming  up  on  this  track  ?  Shall 
we  run  across  ?  We're  in  the  wrong  place  here,  any- 
way. How  did  we  get  here?  I  wasn't  minding; 
were  you  ?" 

"We'll  cross — there's  time  enough,"  said  Meloon, 
sharply.  "  Go  ahead !" 

As  he  spoke  he  gave  the  young  man  a  slight  push. 
The  engine  was  coming  up  with  an  implacable  calm- 
ness. It  is  wonderful  what  may  happen  in  a  breath 
of  time.  Somebody  on  the  engine  shouted.  It 
seemed  as  if  Meloon  pulled  back  Hildreth  with  the 
reflex  action  of  the  movement  which  had  impelled 
him  forward. 

The  hot  steam  swept  on  them  as  they  staggered 
and  fell  on  the  platform.  The  same  voice  that  had 
shouted,  cried  out  now  : 

"  Good  God  !  Are  you  fools  ?"  The  engine  and  its 
cars  went  on.  People  ran  up  to  the  two  men,  who 
had  risen  directly  to  their  feet. 

"  No  harm  done,"  said  Meloon,  and  he  stooped  to 
brush  the  dust  from  his  pantaloons. 

The  people  scattered  again. 

"  I  thought  we  could  get  across,"  said  Hildreth. 
"  That  was  rather  narrow,  wasn't  it  ?  Ugh !  It 

267 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

doesn't  make  a  fellow  feel  good  to  scrape  quite  so 
close,  does  it  ?" 

He  was  ashy  white,  but  his  voice  was  steady. 

Meloon  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  but  he 
closed  it  again  without  a  sound.  He  looked  hard  at 
Hiklreth.  The  latter  continued  immediately  :  "Come 
on,  we  must  get  round  somehow,  or  you'll  miss  your 
train.  Stupid  of  us  to  come  here." 

In  two  minutes  more  Meloon  was  sitting  in  the 
right  train  and  Hildreth  with  a  hand  on  the  back  of 
the  seat  was  leaning  over  him,  saying  quickly  : 

"We  shall  be  sure  to  get  up  to  the  farm  in  the 
summer.  There's  no  place  in  the  world  I  love  so 
well.  Take  care  of  yourself,  old  fellow.  You've 
been  a  friend.  There,  you're  off.  Good-bye." 

The  cars  had  given  that  preliminary  lurch  in  re- 
sponse to  the  shout  of  "  Board !"  from  the  outside. 
Hildreth  ran  down  the  aisle,  knocking  against  some 
one  that  was  coming  in ;  then  he  swung  himself  off 
as  the  train  gained  impetus,  and  ran  on  by  the  car, 
looking  up  at  Meloon  and  waving  his  hat  at  him. 

Meloon  nodded  his  head;  then  the  train  slid  along 
out  of  the  station,  and  the  man  settled  back  in  his 
seat  and  drew  his  hat  far  forward  over  his  eyes.  He 
remained  thus  for  what  he  thought  was  a  long  time, 
until  the  conductor  had  been  on  his  first  trip.  As 
the  man  punched  the  ticket  and  tucked  it  in  on  the 
top  of  the  seat  in  front,  he  glanced  at  Meloon's  face. 
He  went  on,  but  before  he  left  the  car  he  came  back, 
glanced  a  second  time  at  Meloon,  and  then,  as  if  im- 
pelled by  something,  he  touched  the  man's  arm,  and 
asked  : 

"  Are  you  sick  ?     Anything  I  can  do  ?" 

Meloon  moved  impatiently. 

"  I'm  well." 

268 


A  SAVING  GRACE 

"  All  right." 

The  conductor  passed  on.  At  the  door  he  met 
the  brakeman,  and  said  : 

"  That  fellow  with  the  hat  drawn  down  over  his 
eyes  looks  as  if  he  had  just  seen  the  devil." 

"  I  know  it ;  I  noticed  him.  Hope  he  won't  wreck 
the  train." 

The  two  men  laughed  and  separated. 

After  a  while  Meloon  rose  and  went  into  the 
smoker,  not  to  smoke,  but  he  felt  an  imperative 
need  of  moving. 

The  air  was  blue  and  thick ;  some  of  the  men  were 
playing  cards  ;  nobody  seemed  to  look  at  the  man 
who  stalked  through  and  back  again,  save  that  one 
young  man  shuffling  a  pack  of  cards  raised  his  eyes 
and  gave  a  short  laugh,  before  he  said  : 

"That  feller  looks  like  a  regular  nightmare." 

Meloon  used  afterwards  to  try  to  remember  that 
journey,  but  he  could  never  recollect  anything  dis- 
tinctly, save  the  instant  when  he  had  pushed  Hil- 
dreth  towards  the  engine.  The  fact  that  he  had  al- 
most simultaneously  pulled  him  back  was  blurred  in 
his  memory. 

The  impulse  to  destroy  what  stood  in  his  way  kept 
fresh  in  his  mind  ;  it  revealed  an  abyss  in  himself 
which  terrified  him,  and  which  in  a  way  seemed  as 
alien  as  if  it  had  been  a  glimpse  which  he  had  had 
into  another  man's  soul.  Over  and  over  he  asserted 
that  it  was  impossible — he  could  never  have  done 
such  a  thing. 

In  due  time  he  reached  the  village,  where  he  left 
the  stage.  A  neighbor  offered  him  a  seat  in  his  cut- 
ter ;  but  Meloon  said  he  would  walk.  He  knew  that 
he  could  never  listen  to  that  man's  talk  ;  and  he  had 
a  strange  feeling,  deep  down  in  him  somewhere,  that 

269 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

he  might  tell  that  he  had  just  tried  to  push  a  human 
being  in  front  of  a  locomotive.  It  was  true  he  had 
pulled  him  back ;  he  had  been  given  time  to  do  that 
—time  and  a  saving  grace.  At  this  latter  clause 
Meloon  mocked. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  have  a  man's  life 
stand  between  you  and  happiness. 


XXXV 
WITH   TROOPER 

MELOON  did  not  go  across  the  fields.  He  let 
his  neighbor  drive  on  ahead  in  his  cutter  until 
he  was  out  of  sight  in  the  vivid  color  of  a 
brilliant  afternoon.  The  unbroken  snow  emitted  a 
white  glow.  The  mercury  was  five  below  zero,  but 
there  was  not  a  breath  of  wind. 

Meloon  strode  forward  over  the  creaking  snow, 
his  breath  making  a  vapor  in  front  of  him,  bits  of 
ice  gathering  on  his  mustache.  A  mile  or  two  away, 
in  this  direction  and  that,  on  hill-sides,  but  usually  in 
valleys,  here  and  there,  were  little  farm-houses,  with 
columns  of  smoke  going  straight  up  into  the  air. 
Sometimes  these  houses  were  painted  white,  but  the 
white  showed  dingy  against  the  snow.  The  stretch- 
es of  firs  and  pines  were  blue  black  ;  only  the  erect 
boles  of  the  birches  seemed  white  even  on  a  day  like 
this. 

Meloon  knew  that  there  would  not  be  a  house  on 
this  road  for  the  distance  of  several  miles,  and  he 
was  glad  of  it.  *  He  reckoned  that  this  air  would 
sweeten  and  clarify  his  thoughts;  he  felt  as  if  he 
were  throwing  his  soul  open  to  the  pure  strength  of 
the  atmosphere.  How  could  there  be  in  this  world 
two  places  so  different  as  this  New  Hampshire  coun- 
try and  that  city  which  he  had  just  left  ? 

A  rabbit  started  up  and  went  across  the  narrow 
271 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

road ;  at  the  opposite  side  it  paused  an  instant  on 
its  haunches,  eyes  protruding,  ears  erect,  then  fled 
away  beneath  the  trees.  Mcloon  stood  motionless, 
watching ;  and  the  sight  soothed  him.  Off  on  the 
hill  at  his  right  he  heard  the  short,  sharp  bark  of  a 
fox.  All  around  on  the  snow  of  the  open  field  at  his 
left  were  the  marks  of  birds'  feet  and  of  winter 
creatures — squirrels,  rabbits.  The  man  stopped  to 
gaze  at  these  footsteps. 

His  pulse  beat  less  turbulently.  Though  he  was 
not  young,  and  ought  to  have  known  better,  he  took 
heart  of  grace,  and  actually  believed  that  this  emo- 
tion of  calm  was  but  the  presage  of  healing.  The 
odor  of  the  New  Hampshire  winter  was  in  his  nos- 
trils, and  he  flung  up  his  head  that  he  might  breathe 
still  more  deeply. 

"  I'll  begin  to  lead  a  sane  life  again,"  he  said.  "To 
plod  on  here  in  the  country — to  read — to  play  my 
fiddle — to  have  all  emotion  expend  itself  on  my  dog 
and  my  horses — better  still,  to  do  without  any  emo- 
tion— ah,"  another  deep  breath,  "  I  shall  pull  myself 
together  yet." 

He  went  on  steadily  for  a  mile,  his  courage  and 
his  hope  rising  every  moment,  even  conscious,  in 
the  stimulation  of  this  atmosphere,  of  a  quiver  of 
animal  spirits.  Then  he  turned  a  curve  in  the 
downward  road,  and  stopped  short.  He  had  been 
dreading  this  place,  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  that 
he  might  come  here  alone  had  been  one  of  his  rea- 
sons for  declining  the  offer  of  a  seat  in  the  cutter. 
Straight  away  at  his  right  he  could  see  his  own 
house. 

It  was  here  that  he  had  shot  the  bear,  been  thrown 
from  his  carriage,  and  here  that  Billy  had  found  him. 
She  had  been  kind — divinely  kind.  She  had  loved 


WITH    TROOPER 

him.  He  could  look  back  and  see  everything  illumi- 
nated by  the  light  that  had  come  too  late.  But  he 
had  been  blind  then  ;  still  even  now  he  did  not  won- 
der at  his  blindness.  It  had  been  fate  leading  him 
— or  had  it  been  God?  Did  he  need  more  discipline 
in  life,  and  was  this  God's  way  of  dealing  it  out  to 
him? 

All  at  once,  as  a  newly  come  light  snow  is  shaken 
from  a  tree  by  a  gust  of  wind,  the  sight  of  this  place, 
and  the  memory  of  Billy's  voice,  as  she  had  come  to 
him  here,  shook  from  him  all  of  that  shallow  belief 
in  the  retrievement  of  himself  which  he  had  felt  a 
moment  before.  'In  an  instant  he  was  unmanned. 
Heart  and  soul  cried  out  for  this  woman  who  loved 
him  and  whom  he  loved.  A  demon  of  a  wish  darted 
through  him — a  wish  that,  having  pushed  Hildreth 
towards  death,  he  had  not  pulled  him  back.  Why 
had  he  saved  him  ?  Let  that  man  be  careful  and 
not  come  in  his  way  again.  From  a  man  with  high 
aspirations,  Meloon  became  a  furious  animal  whose 
mate  has  been  torn  from  him.  It  was  as  if  he  had 
fangs  and  claws  with  which  to  destroy.  When  he 
recalled  how  Billy  had  said,  "  I  love  you,"  but  a  few 
hours  before,  he  could  have  gnashed  his  teeth.  His 
eyes  burned.  Everything  about  the  whole  affair 
was  maddening.  That  he  should  have  visited  the 
girl  at  her  hotel  and  should  not  have  spoken — even 
then  it  was  not  too  late  ;  but  when  he  had  gone  back 
she  told  him  she  had  just  married  Hildreth.  Then 
he  was  as  much  too  late  as  if  years  had  passed. 

Still  he  must  bear  everything  ;  somehow,  well  or 
ill,  he  must  bear  everything  ;  and  like  a  man,  not 
like  a  beast.  These  words,  though  they  passed 
through  his  mind,  had  no  apparent  effect  upon 
him. 

s  »  273 


THE    MELOON   FARM 

He  sprang  along  down  the  road,  between  the 
banks  of  snow.  He  had  a  fancy  that  he  was  like  a 
brakeman  who  tries  to  make  the  brakes  take  a  grip 
on  the  speed  of  the  wheels.  Perhaps,  if  Meloon  had 
been  younger,  his  nature  would  have  been  more 
pliable. 

"  There  are  a  thousand  things  to  live  for,"  he 
cried.  "  How  has  the  world  changed  since  before 
I  saw  her  ?  It  has  not  changed  by  a  hair's-breadth  ; 
I'll  get  comfort  out  of  it  yet.  I  won't  be  defrauded 
because  I've  met  that  girl." 

Far  off,  down  below,  he  heard  a  dog  bark.  The 
sound  came  sharply  in  the  still  air.  That  was  Billy's 
dog.  Very  well,  he  would  shoot  Billy's  dog;  he 
wouldn't  have  the  creature  about  where  he  could 
see  him. 

She  had  said  she  would  surely  come  for  him. 
Let  her  come !  He  would  tell  her  that  there  were 
some  things  that  he  could  not  endure — a  man  could 
not  bear  everything — and  Lotos  was  one  of  those 
things.  Then  she  would  grieve,  but  he  could  not 
help  that ;  she  must  grieve.  It  would  be  Hildreth's 
place  to  comfort  her  when  she  was  sorry.  Here 
Meloon  shut  his  hands  hard;  but  he  opened  them 
again,  flung  them  forward  and  outward,  and  laughed 
loudly. 

He  was  walking  fast  all  the  time,  and  now  he 
was  not  more  than  half  a  mile  from  his  home.  He 
would  presently  be  at  the  gate  that  led  into  the 
lane.  He  had  met  no  one ;  he  had  some  luck  left, 
then. 

A  shape  was  galloping  up  among  those  scattering 
pines  and  birches — a  tawny  bulk  that  loped  in  long 
reaches  over  the  snow,  that  jumped  a  wall  and  tu- 
multuously  threw  itself  upon  Meloon,  eager  tongue 

274  r 


WITH   TROOPER 

and  breath  going  warmly  over  the  man's  face.     It 
was  Trooper,  half  crazed  with  joy. 

Meloon  knelt  down  on  the  snow  ;  he  put  his  arms 
about  the  dog  and  pressed  his  face  on  the  thick  yel- 
low hair  of  his  neck.  Something  seemed  to  break  in 
him,  and  the  man  began  to  cry  and  sob  like  a  child. 


XXXVI 
AT     HOME 

AFTER  a  few  moments  Meloon  rose  to  his  feet, 
the  dog  keeping  close  to  his  legs  and  whining 
in  a  joyful  tremolo.      The  man  hardly  knew 
what  had  happened  to  him.    He  could  not  remember 
when  tears  had  fallen  from  his  eyes  before.    He  had 
never  had  much  sympathy  with  human  beings  who 
were  mere  "vessels  of  emotion."     The  fury  of  his 
mood  was  quenched.    He  walked  on  slowly,  but  with- 
out pause,  down  the  lane,  the  dog  at  his  heels. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  had  seen  him  ;  the  door  from  the 
kitchen  was  flung  open,  and  she  appeared  with  her 
apron  drawn  up  about  her  shoulders.  Lotos  dashed 
out  by  her,  nearly  knocking  her  down. 

"  Hullo,  old  fellow !"  called  out  Meloon,  cheerily. 
"There's  nothing  like  a  dog  for  a  welcome.  Is  there, 
Serissa  ?" 

Then  he  was  shaking  hands  with  his  housekeeper, 
and  she  was  looking  at  him  nervously  as  she  asked  : 

"  What's  the  news,  Rawdon  ?  Have  you  seen  her  ? 
I  didn't  know  when  to  expect  you.  I've  been  all  in 
a  heap  in  my  mind  ever  since  you  went.  Have  you 
seen  her?  I  s'pose  you're  hungry  as  a  bear,  ain't 
you  ?" 

Meloon  was  standing  in  the  kitchen  gazing  about 
him.  It  seemed  a  year  since  he  had  been  in  this 
room.  He  began  pulling  off  his  overcoat. 

276 


'  WHY,    RAWDON,    IS   ANYTHING   THE   MATTER  ?' 


AT   HOME 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  replied,  "  I've  seen  her.  More  than 
that,  I've  heard  her  in  opera.  You've  no  idea  how 
glorious  she  is.  What  have  you  got  for  supper?" 

"  Oh,  I  know.  She  isn't  like  any  one  else,  I'm  sure. 
Is  she  well  ?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  twisting  her  apron  in  her 
hands.  At  this  moment  she  looked  small  and  old, 
and  somehow  very  pitiable.  It  occurred  to  the  man 
that  Billy  was  careless  and  hard ;  that  she  trampled 
on  much  that  was  sacred  that  she  might  reach  what 
she  sought.  And  then  he  asked  himself,  had  her 
mother  a  right  to  stand  between  the  girl  and  her 
vocation  ? 

"  Well  ?    Oh  yes,  in  fine  condition." 

Meloon  leaned  forward  and  spread  his  hands  tow- 
ards the  fire,  for  the  two  had  now  gone  into  the 
sitting-room.  He  was  getting  himself  ready  to  tell 
of  her  marriage.  The  next  instant  he  blurted  out : 

"  She  has  just  married  Hildreth." 

"Oh!"  cried  the  woman;  "and  she  didn't  write 
to  me." 

"  You're  glad  of  it,  aren't  you  ?"  roughly.  "  I  fancy 
'twas  very  sudden — in  fact,  she  said  so.  You  approve, 
I  know." 

"  I  always  did  think  she  loved  him,  from  the  first. 
I  told  you  she  did." 

Meloon  raised  his  head  and  gazed  at  his  companion 
with  a  questioning  intentness.  At  last  he  drew  in 
his  breath  slowly  and  said  : 

"  Yes,  I  remember  you  told  me  that,  and  I  believed 
you." 

"Why,  Rawdon,  is  anything  the  matter?" 

Meloon  withdrew  his  eyes  and  smiled. 

" Nothing,"  he  answered.  "The  marriage  is  to  be 
a  secret  from  the  public  at  present.  Did  you  tell  me 

277 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

what  you  have  for  supper?  I'm  starving.   It's  hungry 
business,  this  opera-goin;.;." 

When  the  two  were  at  the  supper-table  Meloon 
began  making  inquiries  about  the  animals.  Had 
Tom  Dowd,  the  one  hired  man  for  the  present,  done 
all  that  he  ought?  After  a  time  Mrs.  Armstrong 
noticed  that  he  did  not  remember  her  replies,  and 
repeated  his  questions ;  and  he  did  not  eat.  There 
were  many  things  that  she  wished  to  ask,  but  she 
could  not.  She  wondered  why  she  felt  frightened. 
She  sat  staring  over  her  tea  at  the  master  of  the 
house,  who  made  a  pretence  of  eating  copiously,  and 
who  laughed  a  great  deal  as  he  talked,  his  eyes  shin- 
ing. Mrs.  Armstrong  wished  that  Tom  Dowd  were 
going  to  stay  there  that  night,  as  he  had  been  stay- 
ing since  Meloon's  absence,  but  Tom  had  gone  home 
down  the  valley,  after  having  done  the  chores. 

At  last,  at  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Armstrong  went  up- 
stairs to  her  room,  leaving  Meloon  sitting  by  the 
fire. 

She  could  not  sleep.  After  the  clock  had  struck 
twelve  she  heard  the  playing  of  a  fiddle  below,  a  fiddle 
giving  forth  gay,  jinking  tunes,  as  if  the  brain  that 
guided  the  bow  hand  were  half  drunk. 

She  bore  it  as  long  as  she  could ;  then  she  rose, 
shivering  in  the  keen  air,  dressed,  and  went  down- 
stairs. 

Meloon  did  not  hear  her  come  in.  He  was  stand- 
ing before  the  fire  with  his  violin  at  his  shoulder, 
his  head  bent  as  he  sang  to  it.  The  woman  softly 
closed  the  door  behind  her  and  stood  listening.  She 
knew  very  well  what  the  song  was ;  she  had  sung  it 
in  her  youth,  and  now  the  remembered  notes  slipped 
down  into  her  heart,  making  it  beat  with  tender 
reminiscence. 

378 


AT   HOME 

"  Weep  no  more,  lady,  weep  no  more, 

Thy  sorrow  is  in  vain; 
For  violets  plucked  the  sweetest  showers 
Will  ne'er  make  bloom  again. 

"  Sigh  no  more,  lady,  sigh  no  more, 

Men  were  deceivers  ever; 
One  foot  on  sea  and  one  on  land, 
To  one  thing  constant  never." 

A  pause,  and  then,  monotonously,  with  an  under- 
tone from  the  violin  : 

"All  things  are  transient; 
They  being  born  must  die, 
And  being  born  are  dead ; 
And  being  dead  are  glad 
To  be  at  rest." 

"So  that's  the  way  people  felt  twenty-four  cen- 
turies ago,"  he  said. 

As  he  finished,  the  player  became  aware  that  he 
was  not  alone.  His  violin  swung  down  in  his  hand 
and  he  turned  about  quickly.  But  he  spoke  gently. 

"  You  are  her  mother,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  wish  I  had  had  Tom  stay 
here.  You  frighten  me,  Rawdon  Meloon.  You 
ain't  like  yourself.  What  do  you  mean  by  I'm  her 
mother?" 

"  What  do  I  mean  ?  Why,  just  that.  I  was  think- 
ing of  Billy.  You  know  I've  just  seen  and  heard 
her  in  opera,  and  my  mind  runs  on  the  memory. 
You've  no  idea  how  magnificent  she  is.  And  now 
she  is  Hildreth's  wife.  He's  beside  himself  with  hap- 
piness." 

"  I  hope  she'll  write  to  me  all  about  it,"  said  the 
mother. 

279 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

"Oh,  of  course — of  course.  She  does  write  often 
now,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  so  she  does  ;  but  somehow — " 

"  Somehow  what  ?" 

"  She  seems  so  far  away." 

"  You  didn't  expect  she  was  going  to  stay  here  on 
this  farm,  did  you  ?"  he  asked. 

He  put  his  violin  under  his  chin  again ;  but  he 
diil  not  play. 

"  What  makes  you  so  strange  ?"  she  asked. 

Meloon  turned  upon  her. 

"  Go  back  to  bed  again,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  As 
for  me,  I'm  going  to  have  a  wake.  I  can't  sleep. 
I'm  going  to  stay  up  with  the  dogs.  Good-night, 
Serissa  ;  or  rather,  good-morning." 

He  walked  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  held  it  for 
her  as  she  passed  through. 

She  paused  on  the  other  side  of  the  threshold. 

"  I  never  was  so  well  in  my  life,"  lie  said,  "  nor  so 
gay.  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  think  of.  I  shall 
have  thought  of  them  all  before  daylight,  and  then 
I'll  settle  down  again." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  did  not  want  to  leave  him  alone, 
but  she  was  obliged  to  obey.  She  thought  she  heard 
him  chuckling  to  himself  after  he  had  closed  the 
door  upon  her.  She  hurried  up  to  bed  and  pulled 
the  clothes  over  her  ears,  and  presently  she  fell 
asleep,  to  her  great  surprise  when  she  thought  of 
the  matter  the  next  day. 

Long  before  light  in  the  morning  she  heard  Meloon 
shut  the  outer  door,  and  then  the  squeaking  crunch 
of  his  footsteps  towards  the  barn.  A  moment  later 
the  deep  bay  of  Trooper  sounded  in  the  lane. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  rose  and  pulled  the  curtain  aside  ; 
she  saw  a  tall,  dark  figure  swinging  a  lighted  lantern  ; 

280 


AT   HOME 

the  light  gleamed  on  a  milk-pail.  She  drew  a  long 
breath  of  relief,  and  hurriedly  dressed.  When  Meloon 
came  in  with  his  first  pail  of  milk,  Mrs.  Armstrong 
held  the  light  while  he  strained  it  into  the  pans 
she  had  placed.  The  cat  was  purring  and  rubbing 
at  his  feet.  She  looked  apprehensively  at  his  face — 
it  was  just  the  same  as  it  used  to  be. 

Yes,  as  the  days  followed  one  another  now,  he  was 
just  the  same  as  before  his  visit  to  Boston  ;  so  Serissa 
gratefully  told  herself.  After  a  time  she  noticed 
that  his  violin  was  put  away,  and  that  he  never 
touched  the  piano.  He  and  Tom  Dowd  went  into 
the  woods  and  began  logging.  They  were  up  in  the 
starlight  of  the  bitter  February  mornings  ;  and  she 
was  up  also  to  get  their  breakfast,  and  to  put  up  great 
pieces  of  bread  and  meat  and  big  doughnuts  for  their 
dinners  in  the  woods.  Daylight  had  not  come  when 
they  went  slowly  off  over  the  snow,  each  man  walk- 
ing beside  his  pair  of  oxen,  the  sleds  slipping  along 
behind,  the  dogs  careering  over  the  crust  of  the 
snow.  Sometimes,  up  the  slope  of  a  hill,  she  saw 
the  shadowy  form  of  a  fox  flit  like  a  spectre  ;  and 
once  she  saw  a  larger,  more  clumsy  object  going 
slowly,  and  that  night  the  men  at  the  supper-table 
told  of  having  seen  the  track  of  a  bear. 

Meloon  ate  as  usual  ;  he  talked,  he  laughed ;  he 
was,  perhaps,  a  little  more  gentle  in  his  manner. 
Mrs.  Armstrong  settled  it  in  her  own  mind  that,  in 
some  curious  way,  her  friend  had  been  improved  by 
his  visit  to  Boston. 

In  the  evenings  he  sat  dozing  in  his  chair,  or  some- 
times he  talked  a  little  of  logging  with  Tom  Dowd, 
who  dozed  in  his  chair.  They  planned  to  get  out 
"pulp- wood"  for  the  pulp-mill. 

Every  week  now  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  a  letter 
281 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

from  her  daughter — brief  the  epistles  were,  but  they 
told  of  her  travels,  and,  in  a  general  way,  of  her  wel- 
fare. She  was  singing  in  the  principal  cities,  and 
success  attended  her  everywhere.  In  the  first  note 
after  Meloon's  return,  she  said :  "  I  was  married  to 
Vane  yesterday.  On  the  whole,  I  thought  it  best." 
And  after  that  she  never  mentioned  him.  Once  she 
wrote  that  Bashy  was  with  her,  and  that  she  didn't 
know  what  she  should  do  without  Bashy. 

At  first  Mrs.  Armstrong  used  to  read  these  epistles 
to  Meloon,  but  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  he  did  not  listen, 
and  he  never  made  any  comment,  so  she  ceased.  She 
often  wished  that  it  had  happened  that  Meloon  had 
felt  more  interested  in  her  daughter. 

The  time  went  by  swiftly,  for  all  its  monotony, 
and  as  the  days  lengthened  the  cold  strengthened, 
until  it  was  as  if  the  whole  earth  were  frozen  and 
cracking  in  the  icy  air. 

Then — was  it  suddenly,  or  did  it  only  seem  so  ? — 
there  was  a  softness,  a  smile  in  the  heavens ;  the 
snow  had  gone  save  at  the  north  of  hills,  and  walls, 
and  houses;  the  roads  were  deep  with  mud;  "the 
doing,"  as  the  neighbors  said,  "was  just  awful."  It 
was  sapping-time  again,  and  Meloon  and  his  hired 
men  were  up  at  their  hut  among  the  maples. 
Sometimes  they  brought  down  sap  for  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong to  boil  on  the  kitchen  stove,  but  that  was 
rare. 

To  Meloon  it  had  always  been  as  if  there  were  an 
enchantment  in  the  world  when  sapping-time  had 
come  round  ;  anything  beautiful  might  happen  then, 
when  the  universe  was  renewing  itself. 

He  liked  to  be  alone  at  the  hut  in  the  sugar  orchard  ; 
he  liked  to  tramp  about  with  his  bit  and  his  basket 
of  spiles  and  select  the  trees,  while  the  dogs  nosed 

282 


AT   HOME 

among  the  sodden  leaves,  and  the  birds  made  choice 
of  mates  and  homes. 

That  is,  in  former  years  this  used  to  be  a  charmed 
season  for  him,  and  even  now  his  heart  softened  in 
some  strange  way  with  the  softening  sky. 

Yes,  anything  beautiful  might  happen. 

He  was  standing  in  the  door  of  his  hut ;  the  dogs 
had  gone  down  to  the  house  with  Dowd.  The  morn- 
ing sun  was  sending  brightness  among  the  bare  tree- 
branches  and  shining  in  the  man's  eyes  so  that  he 
did  not  at  first  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  figure 
walking  up  the  cart-path  towards  him;  for  the  figure 
seemed  to  be  that  of  Wilhelmina  Armstrong. 


XXXVII 
1  R I  ENDS 

PERHAPS  the  form  was  but  a  shape  projected 
from  Meloon's  mind,  and  he  was  in  reality  losing 
control  of  his  brain. 

There  was  Billy  in  velvet  and*  silk,  coming  lightly 
up  the  path  ;  and  Meloon  stood  still  and  watched  her. 
When  he  had  first  caught  sight  of  her  she  had  been 
gazing  about  her,  her  face  solemn,  but  with  a  great 
eagerness  upon  it.  Now  she  was  looking  straight  at 
him  ;  she  was  pale,  though  she  was  walking,  and  her 
eyes  were  intent.  Meloon  could  not  help  thinking 
that  she  moved  easily,  like  a  ghost;  then  a  terror  went 
through  him  ;  was  she  dead,  and  was  this  her  wraith  ? 

She  came  close  to  him  and  held  out  her  gloved 
hand  ;  he  took  the  hand,  and  the  two  stood  a  moment 
looking  at  each  other. 

Then  Billy  withdrew  her  hand  and  glanced  about 
her ;  she  drew  in  the  moist  odors  of  the  wood  and 
the  moss  in  a  long  breath. 

44  It's  all  just  as  I've  remembered — just  the  same," 
she  said. 

Her  voice  was  low  ;  it  was  perfectly  steady  ;  and 
yet  it  was  very  pathetic. 

"  You  have  remembered  it,  then  ?"  Meloon  re- 
sponded. 

Billy  leaned  against  the  door-frame ;  the  two  were 
near  to  each  other. 

284 


'NOW   SHE  WAS  LOOKING  STRAIGHT  AT  HIM 


FRIENDS 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  answered. 

She  had  put  her  hands  together  in  a  way  her  com- 
panion recalled — a  way  that  somehow  was  sugges- 
tive of  restrained  ardor;  but  Billy  was  extremely 
quiet. 

"I  couldn't  help  coming  here  before  I  went,"  she 
said.  "  I  must  see  mother — and  all  this,"  her  eyes 
sweeping  about  her,  "  and  Lotos." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  asked  Meloon. 

She  continued  to  gaze  out  into  the  wood  as  she 
answered : 

"Hadn't  you  heard?  We  sail  for  England  the 
day  after  to-morrow." 

"  No,  I  hadn't  heard." 

Presently  Meloon  went  into  the  hut  and  carefully 
stirred  the  boiling  sap,  bending  his  head  down  over 
the  steam  that  arose. 

Billy  kept  her  place,  but  she  turned  to  watch  her 
companion. 

"  There  was  another  reason,  too,  why  I*  had  to 
come,"  she  said. 

Meloon  came  back  to  her. 

"  Another  reason  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  coldly,  but  he  was  thinking  wild 
thoughts.  He  was  wondering  why  all  of  woman- 
hood should  seem  concentrated  in  this  slight  girl 
whose  rich  garments  exhaled  a  perfume  that  he  did 
not  like,  because  to  him  it  resembled  the  breath  of 
the  opera — but  that  thought  was  incoherent,  and  he 
did  not  wish  to  be  incoherent ;  he  particularly  wished 
to  keep  his  mind  clear  and  cool,  for  he  foresaw  that 
this  interview  might  be  trying,  more  and  more  try- 
ing as  the  moments  should  pass. 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  hard  to  tell  that  reason ;  I  shall 
have  to  wait ;  I  can't  speak  of  it  yet." 

285 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

The  two  stood  silent  for  some  time,  both  gazing  at 
the  trees.  Finally  Meloon  asked  : 

"  Did  you  come  alone  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  never  go  anywhere  alone  in  these  days. 
Vane  and  Bashy  are  at  the  house.  I  wouldn't  let 
them  come  up  here ;  they  were  willing  not  to  come 
— they  didn't  want  to  climb  the  hill.  I  knew  the 
way  so  well.  Do  you  remember  that  I  used  to  bring 
your  lunch  last  sapping-time?" 

"  Yes." 

"Of  course  it  isn't  time  for  you  to  forget  yet.  I 
thought  it  was  beautiful  as  I  walked  up  the  path. 
And  I  never  get  out  of  breath.  I  wish  Lotos  were 
here.  He  wasn't  at  the  house.  Mother  was  s^lad  to 
see  me— and  she  kissed  Vane,  too.  But  she  d<  - 
like  Bashy.  I  believe  that  she  thinks  that  Ba^hy 
will  contaminate  me." 

Billy  laughed  in  a  way  her  hearer  did  not  like; 
but  he  made  no  response. 

"  You  have  no  idea  how  popular  I  am,"  she  said. 

"  Yes  ;  I  sometimes  read  the  papers.  I  hope  you 
like  it." 

"  Certainly;  it  is  what  I  live  on." 

"  Perhaps  you  couldn't  live  without  it  now." 

"  Perhaps  not  ;  but  I  don't  mean  to  try.  I  take 
care  of  my  voice  as  a  miser  takes  care  of  his  gold.  I 
have  decided  that  if  my  voice  leaves  me,  or  if  I  get 
too  old  to  sing,  I'll  put  myself  out  of  the  way — get 
some  nice,  sleepy  poison  and  take  it.  No,  I  wouldn't 
live  without  my  singing  voice.  I  often  think  of  Mi*s 
Runciman,  and  I  pity  her  as  I  never  did  pity  her  in 
the  old  days.  But  then  she  grew  pious,  you  kn«w. 
As  for  me?  I  shall  never  grow  pious,"  with  another 
light  laugh. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that." 
286 


FRIENDS 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  it  hurts  me  ;  and  it  isn't  like  you." 

"  It's  like  me  " — a  slight  pause — "  but  I  don't  want 
to  hurt  you." 

Another  pause,  and  then  she  said : 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  know  what  is  like  me.  I  used 
to  have  a  strange  fancy  that  you  did  know,  but  that 
was  when  I  had  fancies.  It  is  lovely  and  still  here 
— but  will  the  workmen  stay  away  much  longer  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  little  longer." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that.  I  like  to  be  with  you,  Mr. 
Meloon.  I  have  the  weakness  to  feel  sure  of  your 
friendship." 

She  was  perilously  frank — or  she  had  that  appear- 
ance ;  but  then  frankness  is  often  a  great  safeguard. 

Another  silence  now  fell  upon  the  two  ;  they  heard 
the  soft  rustling  of  the  twigs  in  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
and  within  the  hut  the  muffled  sound  of  the  boiling 
sap. 

It  was  Billy  who  broke  the  silence. 

"  I'm  not  mistaken,  am  I  ?     You  are  my  friend?" 

"Yes,  I'm  your  friend." 

"  I'm  glad.  I  find  that's  what  I  care  most  for  in 
these  days — that  you  should  be  my  friend — that  and 
my  singing.  I'm  getting  very  hard.  If  I  live  to  be 
forty  people  will  say  of  me,  '  She's  a  hard  woman.' 
Perhaps  I  sha'n't  care  then  about  your  friendship. 
I  can  trust  you ;  I  can  lean  upon  you.  But  I  don't 
suppose  I  shall  see  you — that  isn't  necessary.  Vane 
seems  to  know  that  you  are  a  strong,  good  man. 
He  says  you're  like  iron,  only  kind.  He  thinks  you 
helped  him  when  he  needed  help.  He  says  you're 
the  best  fellow  he  knows." 

"  Hildreth  is  mistaken.  I  never  did  anything  for 
him ;  I  only  let  him  work  for  me." 

287 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

"You  don't  know  anything  about  it;  but  I  know 
what  he  means ;  I  know." 

Billy  looked  down  at  her  gloves;  she  smoothed  the 
backs  of  them.  Still  looking  at  them,  she  said  : 

"Yes  ;  a  strong,  good  man.  I  knew  that  from  the 
first.  I  hate  weak  things.  I'm  a  weak  thing  myself." 

There  was  silence  again  after  this,  for  Meloon  did 
not  feel  that  he  could  speak  any.  commonplace.  At 
last,  however,  he  made  a  remark  in  a  perfunctory 
manner. 

"You  may  be  mistaken  in  both  your  conclusions 
— that  you  are  weak  and  that  I  am  strong." 

"Oh  no;  I'm  not  mistaken."  She  raised  her  eyes; 
they  glanced  across  her  companion  and  at  last  fixed 
themselves  on  a  clump  of  dead,  last  year's  brakes 
close  to  the  door. 

"Are  you  sorry  I'm  going  to  England?"  she  asked. 

"Why  should  I  be  sorry,  since  in  any  case  I  shall 
not  see  you?" 

"Yes;  I  know.  But  I'm  sad  about  it.  I'm  very 
silly.  I  don't  like  to  think  of  all  that  stretch  of  ocean 
that  will  be  between  me  and — and  this  farm."  She 
smiled  with  unsteady  lips. 

Meloon  drew  himself  up  with  an  impatient  move- 
ment. 

"Then  why  do  you  go?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  want  to  go  and  sing.  You  don't  know  what 
a  flattering  offer  I've  had.  But  I  have  such  dreadful 
thoughts  come  into  my  mind." 

"What  thoughts?" 

"That  I  might  die  over  there— that  I  might  die 
away  from  you,  Mr.  Meloon.  If  you  have  a  strong, 
true  friend,  the  thought  of  death  is  not  dreadful — 
if  you  can  be  near  that  friend  at  the  last  moment. 
Or,  if  I  might  sing  the  most  glorious  strain  that  ever 

288 


FRIENDS 

came  from  human  lips,  and  then  drop  down  dead — 
and  so  an  end  of  it." 

She  was  now  looking  up  at  her  companion,  who 
was  standing  stiffly  beside  her,  his  eyes  having  a 
glazed  sort  of  appearance  as  they  were  set  straight 
forward. 

"  You  are  very  morbid,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"Will  the  men  come  back  soon?"  again. 

"  Not  yet.  They've  gone  down  to  the  other  sugar 
orchard.  The  dogs  went  with  them." 

"  I  know  where  the  other  orchard  is ;  I  know  just 
how  it  looks  this  lovely  day.  I  dread  to  have  Lotos 
come;  yet  I  long  to  see  him." 

"Why  do  you  dread  seeing  him?" 

"  Because  I  shall  cry,  and  if  I  cry  I  may  lose  what 
little  self-control  I  have  left.  It  touches  me  so  to  be 
here  again ;  I  was  so  happy  here." 

"Will  you  stop  talking  like  that?"  with  a  sudden 
fury  in  his  voice,  and  turning  towards  Billy  as  if  he 
might  seize  her  and  throw  her  out  among  the  trees. 

She  did  not  shrink;  she  met  his  eyes,  which  had 
flung  off  that  haze,  and  which  were  now  clear  and 
shining. 

Something  reckless  came  into  her  face. 

Instead  of  replying,  she  took  a  few  steps  away  from 
the  door.  A  puff  of  wind  blew  the  loose  hair  about 
her  forehead.  She  put  up  both  hands  to  push  the 
hair  back,  and  she  held  her  hands  there  as  she  said : 

"  Sometimes  I  think  that  this  singing,  this  taking 
the  parts  of  love  and  passion,  and  sometimes  of 
wickedness,  vitiates  one's  nature.  I  throw  myself 
into  the  parts  so — I  try  to  forget  what  I  really  am. 
I  have  moments  when  I  don't  want  to  know  right 
T  289 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

from  wrong — oh,  worse  than  that— when  I'm  willing 
to  go  wrong." 

She  had  spoken  hurriedly.  She  dropped  her  hands 
and  hastened  back  to  the  man,  who  had  not  changed 
his  attitude  in  the  doorway. 

"Mr.  Meloon,"  she  said,  now  speaking  slowly,  "are 
you  disappointed  in  me  ?  Do  you  think  I'm  wicked  ?" 

"  I  can't  be  disappointed  in  you,"  he  answered, 
hoarsely. 

"  Can't  you  ?" 

"  No — no.  You  might  do  any  dreadful  thing — I 
should  not  be  disappointed  —  you  would  still  be 
yourself — yourself." 

He  pushed  his  hat  back,  and  passed  his  hand  across 
his  forehead. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that — I'm  glad  of  that.  I'm  going  to 
try  and  not  be  too  wicked.  I  want  you  to  respect 
me  always — that  is,  there  are  not  many  minutes 
when  I  forget  that.  And  I  have  been  afraid  that 
you  didn't  understand  that  I  did  not  deceive  Vane. 
You  didn't  think  I  deceived  Vane, did  you?" 

"  No,"  in  the  same  indistinct  voice. 

"  I  told  him  that  I  didn't  love  him,  and  never 
should  love  him  ;  but  I  liked  him,  you  know.  I  s;ii<l 
that  the  fancy  I  had  once  had  for  him  was  gone  long 
ago,  and  would  never  come  back.  He  thinks  it  will 
come  back  ;  but  it  won't.  Mr.  Meloon,  you  mustn't 
think  I'm  bold  and  unwomanly,  but  I  did  long  to  say 
this  to  you  before  I  went  to  England.  It's  not  very 
much  to  go  to  England,  but  there'll  be  such  an 
ocean  between  us,  and  anything  might  happen.  And 
I  might  have  those  desperate  feelings  come  over 
me — about  the  poison,  you  know.  I'm  sure  you'll  al- 
ways be  a  friend  to  mother.  And  I've  made  my 
will  and  left  her  all  the  law  allows  a  wife  to  leave, 

290 


FRIENDS 

except  a  few  keepsakes  for  Vane."  Here  Billy 
paused  ;  she  smiled  slightly,  and  continued  :  "What 
a  morbid,  foolish  thing  I  am  !  But  I  feel  better,  now 
I've  said  these  things  to  you.  And  you're  sure" — 
becoming  very  grave — "that  you  don't  think  me 
bold  and  unwomanly  ?" 


XXXVIII 

THE  SUGAR  ORCHARD 

MELOON  took  a  momentary  refuge  in  a  quick, 
bodily  movement.     He  turned  and  went  into 
the  "  lean-to  "  shed,  where  were  piled  the  big 
sticks  of  wood  that  were  used  under  the  boiler.     He 
brought  a  couple  of  these  and  arranged  them  care- 
fully in  the  fire.     He  raked  the  coals  forward,  then 
pushed  a  few  of  them  back  with  the  heel  of  his  boot. 

Billy  watched  him  absorbedly.  He  returned  to 
her  with  a  set  face,  on  which  still  lingered  a  slight 
flush  from  the  fire. 

"I  think  you  the  most  womanly  of  women,"  he 
said,  earnestly. 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  for  an  in- 
stant. When  she  removed  her  hands  she  pulled  off 
her  gloves  and  thrust  them  into  her  coat -pocket. 
She  walked  from  the  door  into  the  hut. 

"Where's  the  ladle?"  she  asked,  in  a  light  tone. 
"Let's  try  the  sap  again.  When  is  it  time  to  syrup 
down?  I  used  to  long  to  smell  this  odor  of  boiling 
sap." 

Before  Meloon  could  reply  there  was  the  sound  of 
voices,  the  breaking  of  twigs,  the  trampling  of  feet 
down  the  path. 

"The  men  are  coming,"  said  Mdonp,  hurricdlv  ; 
then  still  more  quickly:  "Give  me  your  hand  an  in- 
stant, Billy.  There." 

292 


THE    SUGAR   ORCHARD 

He  held  the  hand  closely,  looking  down  into  her 
eyes. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  in  a  half- whisper,  "  I  wish  that 
we  might  be  true  to — to  the  best.  We  shall  never 
be  sorry,  shall  we,  if  we  are  true  to  the  best?" 

Billy  spoke,  but  inarticulately.  She  bent  down 
and  kissed  the  man's  roughened  hand,  and  tears 
dropped  upon  it. 

"  Don't !"  he  cried,  "or  I  shall  take  you  in  my  arms 
and  run  away  with  you." 

His  voice  was  so  strange  that  Billy  shrank. 

Meloon  stepped  by  her  to  the  door  just  as  three 
men  and  two  dogs  came  in  sight. 

Lotos  ran  nosing  eagerly  here  and  there,  his  bit  of 
a  tail  wagging  with  swift  interrogation. 

Billy  sprang  forward. 

"  Here — here !"  she  said,  and  the  dog  jumped  at 
her. 

She  was  crying  openly  now.  The  men  stared  at 
this  woman,  who  was  dressed  as  no  one  in  those  parts 
ever  dressed,  and  who  seemed  not  to  care  how  the 
dog's  feet  soiled  her  silk  and  velvet.  She  kissed  the 
dog's  face,  then  held  it  between  her  hands  and  gazed 
at  it,  the  jewels  gleaming  on  her  hands.  Then  one 
of  the  men  exclaimed  : 

"Why,  it's  Mis' Armstrong's  daughter — ain't  it, 
Meloon  ?" 

Meloon  nodded,  and  walked  down  the  hill,  stopping 
to  look  into  a  sap-bucket  that  hung  on  a  tree,  exam- 
ining it  with  a  concentrated  gaze  that  saw  nothing 
whatever.  He  was  listening  to  Billy's  voice  as  she 
greeted  these  men  and  shook  hands  with  them. 
They  were  the  same  men  who  had  worked  for  him 
last  spring,  when  Billy  had  been  making  butter,  and 
at  noons  coming  up  to  the  sugar-house.  He  heard 

293 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

her  cordial  tones;  he  wondered  that  they  gave  no 
hint  of  any  stress  of  feeling;  but  at  the  same  time 
he  was  thankful  that  they  did  not.  These  country 
people  were  sometimes  curiously  sharp-eyed,  even 
when  they  seemed  dull,  and  they  dearly  loved  a 
morsel  of  gossip.  They  knew  all  over  the  mountain- 
side when  "a  feller  went  home  with  a  gal  from 
prayer -meetin',''  and  they  discussed  the  incident 
from  a  hundred  points  of  view.  If  a  horse  at  the 
village  limped  on  a  certain  day  the  fact  was  known 
by  nightfall  in  the  remotest  hamlet;  and  was  it  a 
spavin,  or  was  his  knee  cut  open  by  a  stumble?  It 
was  these  people  who  had  decided  long  ago  that 
Meloon  would  finally  marry  his  housekeeper,  and 
that  such  a  marriage  was  about  the  right  thing. 

"As  for  that  gal  they  call  Billy  —  did  you  hear 
her  sing  in  meetin'  one  Sunday  when  she  was  livin* 
on  the  Meloon  farm  ?  You  did  ?  Wall,  the  cold 
shivers  kep'  runnin'  down  my  back  all  through  the 
sermon,  jest  thinkin'  of  the  way  she  sung.  'Twa'n't 
fittin'.  I  remember  the  minister  preached  about 
the  Babylonish  woman,  'n'  ever  sence  then  I've  had 
that  Armstrong  gal  'n'  the  Babylonish  woman  mixed 
up  in  my  mind." 

"  She  made  splendid  butter  ;  she  took  the  first  prize 
for  butter  at  the  fair,  you  remember." 

Then  there  were  shakings  of  the  head,  and  an 
expression  of  the  opinion  that  a  girl  who  could  "set 
in  the  choir  'n'  sing  like  that  was  queer,  even  if  she 
did  make  good  butter."  "  Tain't  everything  to  make 
butter,"  was  the  conclusion. 

While  Meloon  still  stood  by  the  maple  where  the 
sap  was  dripping  into  the  bucket,  Billy  came  to  him. 

"There  was  something  else  I  wanted  to  say  to  you," 
she  remarked.  "  I  feel  hurried,  somehow.  But  there's 

294 


'DID   YOU    HEAR   HER   SINGING   IN   MEETIN'   ONE    SUNDAY?'' 


THE  SUGAR  ORCHARD 

something  else.  Won't  you  go  down  to  the  house 
with  me  ?  We  can  talk  on  the  way." 

In  a  few  moments  the  two  started,  going  slowly 
over  the  rough  path,  and  in  silence  at  first,  the  dogs 
with  them,  Lotos  keeping  close  to  the  heels  of  his 
mistress,  and  occasionally  leaping  up  on  her  skirts, 
panting  to  reach  her  face. 

Presently  they  came  to  a  little  open  space  where 
the  sun  shone  and  the  wind  did  not  blow.  Billy 
paused  in  her  walk. 

"  I  want  to  consult  you,"  she  said.  "  You're  wise 
as  well  as  strong."  She  smiled. 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  wise  and  strong  for  myself," 
answered  Meloon. 

They  stood  in  the  little  patch  of  sunlight.  From 
here  they  could  see  the  chimneys  and  roof  of  the 
house,  and  a  stretch  of  the  lane  behind  it. 

"  I  have  a  great  many  letters,"  said  Billy,  abruptly. 

Meloon  stood  quiet,  his  face  showing  how  keen 
was  his  attention. 

Billy  had  taken  her  gloves  from  her  pocket  and 
was  twisting  them  in  her  fingers,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
what  she  was  doing. 

"  Ever  so  many  people  write  to  me,"  she  continued, 
after  a  pause,  "  because  I'm  a  popular  singer,  you 
know.  I  think  it's  always  that  way.  Girls  and  men 
fall  in  love  with  me — fancy  they  do — more  girls  than 
men,  I  should  say.  It's  such  an  old  story  now  that 
I  don't  read  many  of  the  letters — Bashy  attends  to 
them  ;  if  there  is  anything  she  thinks  I  ought  to 
read  she  tells  me.  But  there's  one  person  who  sends 
a  letter  every  day — I  always  read  that — I  don't  quite 
understand — "  Here  Billy  paused,  apparently  for 
the  simple  reason  that  words  had  become  so  difficult 
to  select.  Meloon  did  not  speak.  "  No,  I  don't 

295 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

understand  why  I  feel  as  I  do  about  these  letters. 
I  don't  think  I  could  do  without  them  now — only  we 
can  do  without  many  things  that  we  think  arc  n 
sary.  Are  you  listening,  Mr.  Meloon  ?  I  hope  I 
sha'n't  bore  you.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  you  will  be  interest- 

Meloon  was  aware  that  she  looked  at  him  wist- 
fully; he  was  aware  of  this,  though  he  did  not  meet 
her  glance. 

"  I  am  listening.  I  am  deeply  interested,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  It's  a  great  mystery,"  she  resumed,  "  and  per- 
haps that's  one  reason  why  I'm  so  interested  ;  but  it 
can  only  be  a  small  reason,  though,  for  I  should  have 
tired  of  them  long  ago,  in  that  case." 

She  paused  and  seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply. 
Then  she  exclaimed  : 

"  I  live  such  a  strange  life  that  I  hardly  know 
what  is  real.  But  these  letters  have  come  to  seem  to 
me  a  part  of  my  very  self — something  I  must  have. 
And  they  may  stop  at  any  time.  It  is  some  one's 
whim  to  send  them  ;  after  a  time  the  whim  will 
cease  to  have  power  ;  and  what  shall  I  do  then  ?" 

"Who  is  the  writer?"  asked  Meloon. 

He  remembered  what  Hildreth  had  told  him  of 
these  epistles. 

"  I  don't  know.  That's  the  mystery.  Sometimes 
I  think  I'll  make  every  effort  to  discover  the  author, 
and  then  I  ask  myself,  What  do  I  care  ?  I  might  be 
thoroughly  disillusioned,  and  I've  made  up  my  mind 
to  hug  my  illusions — they're  all  that  make  life  worth 
living." 

Here  she  paused  again,  and  her  companion  wait 
ed  in  silence.     As  he  waited  he  saw  Hildreth  ap- 
pear in  the  lane  behind  the  house  and  stroll  along 

296 


THE   SUGAR   ORCHARD 

it.  Meloon's  hands  involuntarily  closed  themselves 
tightly  as  they  hung  by  his  sides. 

"  Often  there's  not  more  than  a  line  or  two,  just 
to  wish  me  good-morning.  I  have  them  in  the  morn- 
ing, you  know.  A  line — 'May  the  day  be  bright  to 
you!' — once  it  was,  'God  bless  you!'  And  the  day 
is  brighter  to  me  for  having  the  message.  They  are 
always  type  -  written  ;  there's  not  a  personal  hint 
about  them.  Indeed,  their  outward  appearance  is  as 
impersonal  as  if  they  were  bits  of  a  newspaper  that 
I  picked  up  somewhere.  They  are  not  love-letters 
in  any  sense,  though  the  writer  does  betray  a  kind 
of  interest  in  me ;  but  he  has  never  hinted  that  he 
knows  that  I  am  a  singer." 

"  He  ?  How  do  you  know  this  person  is  a  man  ?" 
quickly  from  Meloon. 

"  I  can't  explain  that,  but  I  do  know  it,  and  he 
wishes  me  well ;  oh,  I  feel  so  strongly  that  he  wishes 
me  well ;  and  the  thought  of  his  interest  gives  me 
strength  day  and  night.  I  often  think  of  him  when 
I  sing,  and  wonder  if  he  has  ever  heard  me.  But 
the  most  curious  part  of  my  feeling  is  that  every- 
thing seems  disembodied — I  can't  tell  you  exactly 
what  I  mean.  But  it  isn't  love,  or  passion ;  it  is  as 
if  we  were  both  spirits,  and  yet  not  that,  either.  In 
fact,  I  don't  understand,  so  I  can't  explain.  But  I 
wanted  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Meloon  ;  since  I've  known 
you  I've  had  a  belief  that  you  would  care  to  hear. 
I  love  to  tell  you  things,  and  now  I've  told  you  about 
the  type-writer — that's  what  Bashy  and  I  call  him — 
though  we  don't  talk  about  him.  Sometimes  his 
letters  are  several  pages  long  ;  I  can't  imagine  why 
they  stimulate  and  help  me  so.  I'm  wondering  if  I 
shall  have  them  when  I  get  to  England.  Someway 
the  writer  always  knows  where  I  am.  It's  a  real 

297 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

mystery.  Perhaps  it  would  be  easily  solved  if  I 
should  try  to  solve  it,  but  I  don't  try,  and  I've  made 
Vane  take  his  oath  that  he  won't  try.  I  feel  sure- 
that  when  I  do  know  I  shall  have  no  more  letters. 
And  I  want  them ;  I'm  frightened  when  I  think  how 
much  I  want  them.  I  don't  understand  myself  at  all. 
I  must  be  a  many-sided,  superficial  kind  of  a  creature." 

In  the  silence  that  followed  the  two  could  hear  the 
robins  calling  to  each  other,  proclaiming  that  spring 
had  come  again,  and  that  this  world  was  a  fine  world 
altogether. 

"What  does  Hildreth  think  of  all  this?" 

At  last  Meloon  put  this  question. 

"Vane?  Oh, sometimes  he  laughs  and  sometimes 
he  swears.  Once  in  a  while  I  show  him  one  of  the 
letters,  but  he  doesn't  care  for  them  ;  he  sees  nothing 
in  them ;  only  he  calls  them  clever.  It  isn't  because 
they  are  clever  that  I  care  for  them;  it's  because 
they  are  for  me — they  are  for  me — as  nothing  else 
has  ever  been.  Now  shall  we  go  on  ?" 

They  went  on  down  the  hill,  and  soon  met  Hildreth, 
who  shook  hands  warmly  with  Meloon,  and  whom 
the  elder  man  thought  looked  thin  and  worn.  There 
was  a  vertical  mark  between  the  handsome  brows, 
and  an  uneasy  compression  of  the  lips. 

A  moment  after  he  had  joined  them  Billy  said  she 
would  hurry  on,  and  she  did  so,  leaving  the  two  men 
together.  They  watched  her  as  she  went  swiftly 
down  the  path ;  then  Vane  kicked  viciously  at  a 
rotten  stump  of  a  tree.  The  wet  fragments  flew  up 
into  the  air,  diffusing  an  odor  of  mould. 

"  I've  a  great  mind  to  ask  you  to  take  me  back  on  the 
farm,  Meloon,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I've  made  a  damned 
mistake ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  I'd  do  it  right  over 
again,  if  I  could." 

298 


XXXIX 
CHANGING  HIS   MIND 

MELOON    turned  with   an   abrupt   movement 
towards  his  companion. 

"Do  what  right  over  again?"  he  asked. 

"  Why,  marry  her,  of  course.  What's  happened  to 
you,  Meloon  ?  You  look  as  if  you'd  seen  a  ghost." 

"Ghosts?  I'm  seeing  them  all  the  time — ghosts 
of  what  might  have  been.  We're  all  haunted,  I 
reckon." 

"  Haunted  ?  Yes  ;  so  am  I.  Take  me  on  the  farm 
again,  Meloon,  will  you  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?"  sharply.  "  Would  you  let 
your  wife  go  to  England  without  you  ?" 

Hildreth  repeated  the  words,  "without  me?"  and 
then  he  burst  into  a  laugh  so  loud  that  Billy,  far 
down  the  hill,  heard  it,  and  half  hesitated  in  her 
walk. 

"  You  call  her  my  wife,  do  you  ?  Well,  I  suppose 
I  do  have  a  legal  claim  on  her.  She's  the  most  tan- 
talizing, maddening  creature  that  God  ever  made. 
I've  had  fifty  minds  to  run  away  from  her;  but  I 
don't  go.  Now  here's  a  chance  to  let  her  run  away 
from  me.  She  and  Bashy  can  go  just  as  well  with- 
out me  as  with  me;  I've  only  to  tell  Billy  that  I've 
changed  my  mind,  and  throw  up  my  passage.  She'd 
give  me  an  inquiring  look,  and  say,  'Oh,  have  you?' 
and  that's  all ;  she  wouldn't  think  of  the  matter  a 

299 


THE.  MELOON    FARM 

second  time.     By  Jove,  Meloon,  don't  you  wish  you 
were  in  my  place  ?" 

Hildreth  kicked  at  the  stump  again. 

"If  I  cut  the  whole  thing,"  he  went  on,  "I'm 
almost  sure  I  should  be  better  off.  I  thought  if  we 
were  married  I  could  win  her.  I  was  an  idiot.  She's 
further  away  than  ever.  She'll  sit  in  a  room  with 
me  and  look  over  my  head  by  the  hour  together, 
not  knowing  I'm  there.  But  when  she  does  know, 
she  is  kind;  she  says  she  'thinks  she's  fond  of  me." 
Jove !  I  wish  you  could  hear  her  say  it ;  it  makes  me 
want  to  yell.  And  I  wish  you  could  hear  her  sing 
now.  Nobody  ever  sang  like  her;  people  arc  wild 
about  her.  And  no  wonder.  When  she  sings  a  love 
song  at  me  it  nearly  kills  me.  I  can't  help  its  seem- 
ing as  if  she  meant  it,  and  longing  to  have  her  nu  an 
it,  and  knowing  all  the  time  that  she  doesn't  mean  it, 
and  never  will.  I've  got  it  into  my  head  that  she  is 
thinking  of  some  one  when  she  sings  like  that,  and 
that  makes  me  furious.  It's  vile  of  me,  I  know,  to 
suspect  such  a  thing,  but  how  am  I  going  to  help  it? 
And  the  cursed  idea  grows  upon  me.  I  can't  stay 
with  her,  and  I  can't  leave  her ;  so  there  I  am  swing- 
ing this  way  and  that,  and  in  hell  all  the  time.  If  I 
could  only  make  up  my  mind  to  tell  her  to  go  to 
England  without  me ;  I'm  trying  to  screw  myself 
up  to  it  every  moment.  Can't  you  reach  out  a  help- 
ing hand  to  a  fellow,  Meloon  ?" 

Hildreth's  face  took  on  for  the  instant  the  old 
femininely  pleading  expression,  and  he  extended  his 
hand  to  his  companion,  who  took  it  and  wrung  it ; 
as  he  let  it  go  he  said,  in  a  deep  voice : 

"  There  are  a  good  many  things  awry  in  this  world." 

He  turned  away,  standing  for  a  moment  with  face 
averted. 

300 


CHANGING  HIS   MIND 

"  I  say,"  repeated  Hildreth,  with  a  sort  of  childish 
insistence,  "  will  you  take  me  on  the  farm  again  if  I 
can  make  up  my  mind?" 

Meloon  kept  the  same  position,  and  in  spite  of 
himself  he  hesitated  perceptibly  before  he  replied ; 
then  he  said : 

"  Yes ;  certainly,"  and  turned  himself  about  so  that 
he  was  squarely  facing  his  companion. 

"That's  right,"  returned  Hildreth,  gloomily;  "I 
felt  sure  you'd  give  me  a  chance  to  earn  my  bread 
by  the  sweat  of  my  brow.  I  don't  think  it's  good  for 
me  to  sing  with  her.  I  try  to  be  mechanical  about  it 
all,  and  about  listening  to  her ;  but,  gad,  it's  no  use. 
And  it  takes  it  out  of  me  horribly." 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  whistled 
shrilly.  Then  he  said  that  he  guessed  he  was  about 
screwed  to  the  sticking-point,  and  he  should  keep  on 
screwing. 

Having  spoken  thus,  Hildreth  began  to  walk  down 
the  hill,  but  Meloon  went  back  to  the  sap-house.  He 
remained  there  for  a  couple  of  hours.  He  tramped 
from  tree  to  tree  gathering  the  buckets  of  sap ;  he 
had  the  appearance  of  a  man  utterly  absorbed  in  his 
work.  Though  he  talked  with  his  assistants,  his 
answers  were  wide.  Trooper  had  stopped  with  him, 
and  often  the  man  turned  to  the  dog  and  held  out 
his  hand ;  then  the  dog  would  come  close  and  lick 
the  fingers,  looking  up,  after  his  kind. 

At  last  Meloon  went  down  to  the  house  ;  it  was 
high  noon,  and  his  guests  were  to  leave  in  time  to 
catch  the  evening  train,  several  miles  away,  for 
Boston. 

At  the  dinner-table  Hildreth  was  very  talkative, 
and  he  laughed  a  great  deal  as  he  talked.  Billy 
sat  beside  her  mother,  who  was  flushed  and  tearful. 
>  301 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

There  seemed  to  be  a  great  deal  of  conversation 
going  on,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  Hildreth  exclaimed: 

"What  do  you  say,  Billy,  to  my  staying  here  in- 
stead of  going  with  you  ?" 

Though  the  tone  was  light,  there  was  yet  some- 
thing in  it  that  made  Billy  turn  and  look  absorbed- 
ly  at  the  speaker.  Meloon,  who  was  watching  her, 
thought  he  saw  a  flicker  come  into  her  eyes.  He 
was  angry  with  himself  because  of  the  excitement 
he  felt.  It  was  hard  to  sit  quiet  and  betray  noth- 
ing of  the  storm  within  him;  and  he  was  still  quiv- 
ering from  the  memory  of  that  interview  among  the 
maples.  He  did,  however,  sit  stolidly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Billy,  at  last;  "I  suppose 
you'll  do  as  you  please." 

"As  if  I  ever  did  as  I  pleased  !" 

"  They'll  have  to  get  me  another  tenor — and  you'll 
break  your  contract." 

"  Pshaw  !  There  are  tenors  enough.  There's  Jos- 
selyn  would  give  his  eyes  to  take  my  place." 

"  His  voice  is  lighter  than  yours." 

"No  matter;  he'll  do  well  enough."   • 

Hildreth  had  kept  his  eyes  on  his  wife's  face,  and 
what  he  saw  there  evidently  irritated  him  almost 
beyond  control.  He  slapped  his  hand  down  on  the 
table  and  cried  out : 

"  I  say,  Meloon,  will  you  stand  to  your  word  and 
let  me  stay  here?  It's  'most  planting -time,  you 
know." 

"  Of  course  I  hold  to  my  word." 

"  It's  a  bargain,  then.  Billy,  you  and  Bashy  may 
go  without  me.  You  may  take  a  letter  to  the  man- 
ager. The  contract  may  go  hang." 

He  struck  the  table  again.  He  had  the  appearance 
of  a  man  who  had  been  drinking  too  much  wine. 

302 


CHANGING  HIS  MIND 

Bashy  stared  at  him  an  instant;  then  she  said, 
emphatically : 

"  Vane,  you're  a  fool." 

"  All  right ;  I  know  that  well  enough  ;  but  it  isn't 
the  first  time  I've  been  a  fool." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  "  have  you  two 
been  quarreling?  Miny  never  used  to  be  quarrelsome 
— did  you,  Miny?" 

Billy  put  her  hand  on  her  mother's  shoulder. 

"  Hush  !  hush  !"  she  said,  softly ;  "Vane  and  I  don't 
quarrel." 

She  looked  at  Vane,  but  she  would  not  ask  him  to 
give  up  this  plan,  though  she  saw  that  he  was  long- 
ing for  her  to  do  so.  Her  eyes  sparkled ;  she  lowered 
them  directly. 

Bashy  laughed. 

"It's  rather  hard  to  be  the  only  sane  one,"  she 
said. 

Bashy  had  grown  fat  since  that  time  when  she 
lived  with  her  aunt  and  her  brother  in  the  house- 
wagon  ;  and  a  double  chin,  she  asserted,  was  the  most 
unbecoming  thing  she  could  set  up. 

She  now  glanced  interrogatively  at  Meloon,  but 
she  got  no  response.  .Dinner  went  on  tamely  enough 
after  this,  and  they  soon  left  the  table. 

Vane  lingered.  Was  he  hoping  that  Billy  would 
say  something  which  he  could  make  an  excuse  for 
changing  his  mind? 

Bashy  came  to  him  and  drew  him  into  the  yard. 

"Vane,  are  you  out  of  your  senses?" 

"Yes!"  defiantly. 

He  kept  himself  to  this  mood  until  the  time  came 
to  start  for  the  station.  One  of  the  hired  men  was 
to  drive  them.  Meloon  professed  himself  too  busy. 

The  good-byes  were  gone  through  with  some  way. 
303 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

Billy  and  her  mother  came  down  from  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong's chamber,  and  Billy  walked  up  to  her  host 
and  held  out  her  hand.     He  could  see  that  sh- 
trembling,  but  she  spoke  steadily. 

She  said  she  knew  what  she  and  her  mother  owed 
to  him.  Then  she  stopped,  and  added  : 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Meloon." 

Her  voice  was  barely  audible ;  there  was  something 
in  it  that  made  Bashy,  who  was  standing  near,  sud- 
denly walk  to  her  side  and  put  her  arm  about  her. 

"  Come,"  said  Bashy ;  "  here's  the  carriage." 

The  two  women  walked  out-of-doors.  Vane  kissed 
his  wife  and  sister  and  put  them  in  the  carriage,  and 
the  next  moment  they  were  driven  off.  Meloon  was 
holding  Lotos  by  the  collar,  and  the  dog  was  strain- 
ing to  get  away,  his  whines  choked  in  his  throat. 
Mrs.  Armstrong  was  crying.  Ilildreth  stood  an 
instant  staring  after  the  carriage.  The  two  men 
saw  Billy  look  back  and  wave  her  hand,  and  they 
took  off  their  hats.  Then  Hildreth  jammed  his  hat 
down  on  his  head,  turned,  and  hurried  off  into  the 
pasture  behind  the  house. 

Meloon  gazed  after  him,  his  face  hard  and  stern. 

"  Does  he  think  he's  the  only  one  who  sutlers  ?"  he 
asked,  inaudibly. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  Hildreth  kept  away.  At 
nightfall  he  came  into  the  kitchen  and  asked  Mrs. 
Armstrong  for  the  milk-pail. 

"  But  you'll  spoil  them  nice  clo'es,"  she  said,  as  she 
gave  him  the  pail. 

He  ran  up-stairs,  and  presently  came  down  in  the 
denim  suit  which  he  had  left  there.  He  went  up  to 
Billy's  mother  and  put  his  arm  about  her  in  his 
old  caressing  way.  II.-  WM  ;M!C  and  had  a  dragged 
look. 


CHANGING  HIS  MIND 

"  It's  awfully  hard  to  bear,"  he  half  whispered. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  drew  nearer  to  him. 

"  But  why  didn't  you  go  with  her,  then?"  she  asked, 
smoothing  his  hair  from  his  forehead. 

"  It  isn't  that — I  could  bear  to  have  her  go,  bad  as 
that  would  be — it's — "  here  he  let  his  head  fall  on 
her  shoulder,  and  he  sobbed  as  he  spoke,  "  it's  because 
she  doesn't  love  me — not  in  the  least — not  in  the 
least.  That's  why  I  didn't  go." 

At  first  Mrs.  Armstrong's  surprise  was  so  great 
that  she  could  not  speak.  Then  she  managed  to  ask, 

"  Who  does  she  love,  then  ?" 

Hildreth  raised  his  head ;  he  drew  his  hand  quickly 
across  his  eyes,  in  which,  with  the  tears,  there  glit- 
tered a  flash  of  suspicion. 

"  Whom  does  she  love?"  he  repeated.  "  Why,  no- 
body. How  strange  for  you  to  ask  such  a  question." 

He  stood  looking  steadily  at  his  companion  for  a 
moment.  Then,  without  meaning  to  speak  aloud, 
he  yet  said : 

"  Those  letters  !     She  has  been  having  letters." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  frightened  by  the  expression 
in  the  young  man's  face,  and  she  herself  had  cloudy 
and  horrible  ideas  of  the  opportunities  for  wicked- 
ness which  come  to  an  opera-singer. 

Hildreth  shook  himself  impatiently.  He  won- 
dered why,  until  this  moment,  he  had  never  had  pre- 
cisely this  same  sensation  concerning  those  letters. 

"  Oh,"  he  answered,  trying  to  speak  carelessly, 
"  they  are  nothing.  I've  seen  them  when  I  chose  ; 
there's  really  nothing  of  consequence  in  them  ;  I 
never  could  understand  why  she  seems  to  care  for 
them  so." 

"  She  cares  ever  so  much  for  them?" 
u  305 


THE  MELOON    I- A  KM 

"  You  are  shocked,  aren't  you?  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  a  woman's  caring  for  letters  her  husband  didn't 
write?  But  there's  honor  in  Billy,  though  she  has 
an  unaccountable  streak  of  lawlessness  in  her,  too.  I 
wish  she  loved  me." 

Hildreth  stood  a  moment  hesitatingly;  then  he 
went  to  the  barn  with  his  milk-pail. 

It  was  before  light  on  the  following  morning  that 
he  stopped  at  his  host's  door. 

"  I  say,  Meloon,"  he  called  out,  "  I'm  going  to  take 
that  brown  mare  and  ride  her  to  the  station,  to  try 
to  catch  that  early  down  train.  May  I  leave  the 
mare  with  the  agent  there?" 

"All  right,"  was  the  answer.  "  Changed  your  mind  ?" 

"Yes.     Thank  you,  old  fellow;  thank  you." 

Hildreth  was  dressed  in  the  clothes  he  came  in. 
Meloon  heard  him  run  to  the  barn,  and  then,  pres- 
ently, the  canter  of  horse's  feet.  The  dogs  barked, 
and  then  all  was  still  again. 

Hildreth  was  riding  furiously  along  the  silent  coun- 
try road.  The  mare  lowered  herself  and  stretched 
away,  her  head  extended  and  her  nostrils  dilated. 
Hildreth  had  not  slept  at  all,  but  had  passed  a  night 
of  torture  and  indecision.  He  pictured  Billy  going 
away  without  him,  having  this  experience  and  that, 
and  he  not  near  to  know,  perhaps  to  protect  her. 
But  most  he  thought  of  those  letters,  and  the  thought 
of  them  stung  him. 

At  last  he  told  himself  he  had  been  insane  to  make 
any  such  resolution.  Perhaps  he  could  catch  that 
morning  train  and  be  at  the  wharf  in  time.  Having 
come  to  this  decision,  he  was  mad  to  act  upon  it. 

The  sure-footed  mare  fled  over  the  distance,  need- 
ing no  urging  after  she  understood  what  was  re- 
quired of  her. 

306 


XL 
WITH  ALL  MY  HEART 

THE  train  was  coming  when  Hildreth  flung  him- 
self off  the  saddle  at  the  station. 

He  ran  to  the  agent,  who  was  leisurely  step- 
ping from  the  door. 

"It's  Meloon's  mare — put  her  in  your  barn — rub 
her  down — he'll  send  for  her." 

The  conductor  was  calling  "  'Board  !"  Hildreth 
flung  a  silver  dollar  at  the  agent  and  swung  on  to 
the  step  of  the  car,  holding  on  as  it  slid  along  the 
rails. 

He  entered  and  sank  down  panting  on  the  end 
seat.  He  was  exultant,  and  he  remained  in  that 
mood  all  through  the  journey.  He  could  hardly  be- 
lieve he  had  ever  been  so  blind  and  stupid  as  to  have 
thought  he  would  let  his  wife  go  without  him.  Why, 
he  was  longing  to  see  her ;  he  couldn't  live  away  from 
her.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  hardly  breathed  from 
the  time  he  started  from  the  farm,  in  the  early  dusk, 
until  his  cab-driver  pulled  up  on  the  wharf  at  East 
Boston  and  he  saw  the  steamer  lying  there.  After 
all,  he  had  plenty  of  time ;  there  was  half  an  hour 
yet.  But  he  had  been  possessed  by  the  fear  that 
every  watch  and  clock  might  be  wrong  and  he  be 
late. 

He  did  not  know  what  a  haggard,  ghost-like  ap- 
pearance he  presented  as  he  walked  up  the  gangway. 

307 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

t 

He  had  stood  on  the  wharf,  scanning  the  faces  of 
the  women  on  deck.  It  would  be  like  Bushy  to  be 
there,  but  he  could  not  see  her. 

He  went  on  board  ;  he  walked  to  the  other  side. 
He  stopped  suddenly.  There  were  comparatively 
few  people  here,  for  the  passengers  who  had  not  gone 
to  their  rooms  were  mostly  on  the  side  nearest  the 
wharf,  exchanging  with  their  friends  a  more  or  less 
emotional  farewell. 

But  here  was  Billy  standing  alone,  leaning  against 
the  rail  and  gazing  absently  out  at  the  shipping. 
Hildreth  saw  her  profile  and  was  startled  at  the  pa- 
thetic curve  of  lips  and  chin,  the  invincible  sadness 
of  the  brow. 

Then  he  began  to  fear.  Would  she  be  glad  to  see 
him  ?  Could  he  dare  to  hope  that  she  was  thinking 
of  him? 

His  eyes  glanced  down  the  slender,  well-dressed 
figure.  He  made  a  step  forward,  and  still  she  did 
not  move.  He  came  yet  nearer  and  said, 

"Billy." 

She  turned  quickly,  and  her  eyes  met  his  for  an 
instant  before  either  spoke  again.  Billy's  face  had 
grown  red,  but  now  she  was  becoming  pale.  Some- 
thing severe  and  remote  seemed  to  come  into  her 
eyes. 

"You  see  I  couldn't  help  coming,"  he  said,  apolo- 
getically. His  heart  was  sinking. 

She  moved  uneasily  ;  she  clasped  the  rail  more 
closely.  She  withdrew  her  eyes  and  fixed  them  ap- 
parently on  Hildreth's  boots. 

"  How  could  I  help  coming,  after  all  ?"  he  said. 
"  It  is  beyond  my  strength  to  stay  away  from  you. 
I  ought  to  have  known  I  couldn't  do  it." 

Still  she  did  not  speak.     The   young  man  was 
308 


BUT    HERE    WAS   BILLY    STANDING   ALONE" 


WITH    ALL   MY  HEART 

chilled  by  her  aspect  and  her  silence.  She  was  usu- 
ally kind,  in  a  way,  genial,  if  somewhat  careless  in 
her  manner  when  with  him. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  speak  to  me?"  he  asked. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  But  if  I  have  nothing  to  say  ?"  she  responded. 

"  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me  ?" 

She  turned  and  gazed  at  the  harbor,  moved  her 
hands,  clasping  them  and  unclasping  them. 

"  Oh,  Billy,  can't  you  answer  me?" 

"  Why  do  you  make  me  hurt  you?" 

"  Then  you're  not  glad?" 

"  I — I  thought  you  were  not  coming,"  she  said. 

Evidently  she  wished  to  add  something  more,  but 
she  did  not. 

Hildreth  stepped  up  closer  to  her.  He  was  now  so 
white  that  he  was  ghastly. 

There  was  a  swift  rustle  of  skirts,  and  Bashy  came 
up. 

"  What !  Vane  !"  she  cried. 

He  turned  upon  her  with  fury. 

"  Go  away  !"  he  said  ;  "  I  must  see  Billy." 

His  sister  had  never  seen  him  like  this,  and  she 
walked  off  without  even  a  retort.  She  turned  to 
look  at  him,  but  she  dared  not  come  back. 

"  You  don't  wish  me  to  cross  with  you?" 

Hildreth  had  steadied  himself  somewhat  by  this  time. 

"  I  thought  you  were  not  going  with  us,  and  I — 
you  see,  Vane,  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  go  with- 
out you,  and — oh,  I  can't  tell  you." 

"  You  shall  tell  me,"  savagely. 

"  Very  well.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  go  with- 
out you,  and  I  felt  a — Vane,  I  do  hate  to  hurt  you — 
I  felt  a  kind  of  relief.  Oh,  how  you  look  at  me !" — 
imploringly. 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

She  was  now  as  white  as  he. 

"A  relief." 

He  repeated  those  words  after  a  moment ;  then 
he  also  turned  and  clasped  the  rail,  staring  down- 
ward blindly. 

People  walked  by  these  two,  and  some  glanced 
back  wonderingly  at  them. 

After  a  time  Billy  moved  nearer  her  husband. 
She  reached  forth  her  hand  as  if  to  put  it  on  his 
arm,  but  it  fell  to  her  side  without  having  touched 
him. 

"I  can't  bear  to  have  you  suffer,"  she  whispered. 

There  was  no  response ;  they  stood  side  by  side, 
close  together.  Billy  was  not  thinking  at  all.  In 
Hildreth's  mind  was  a  groping,  violent  protest  against 
fate,  and  the  conviction  that  he  couldn't  endure  it ; 
no,  he  couldn't  endure  it. 

"  Dear  Vane." 

The  words  came  tremulously  to  him  ;  he  moved 
slightly  in  response,  but  he  did  not  try  to  speak. 
He  knew  that  Billy's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his  face. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly;  "but  I 
was  relieved  when  you  decided  not  to  go — I  \v 
thankful.  It  seems  wicked,  doesn't  it  ? — and  strange, 
for  I'm  really  very  fond  of  you  ;  yes,  really  fond.  If 
you  didn't  love  me,  perhaps  we  might  get  on  better. 
Do  you  think  we  might?" 

"  Don't  we  get  on  well  together?"  he  asked,  speak- 
ing the  words  downward,  without  raising  his  head. 

"  Oh  yes — yes  ;  only — " 

She  hesitated,  but  he  finished  the  sentence. 

"Only  I'm  always  wanting  something  you  can't 
give." 

"Yes." 

A  woman  had  just  gone  by ;  she  paused. 
310 


WITH   ALL    MY    HEART 

"  That's  Miss  Armstrong,"  she  was  saying  to  her- 
self, "and  that  is  the  tenor.  What's  the  matter?  By 
the  look  of  their  faces  anything  might  happen — any- 
thing." 

She  stood  still,  intently  curious,  resolved  to  know 
what  did  happen. 

Apparently  nothing;  but  shortly  the  conversation 
continued. 

"  Can't  you  ever  give  it?" 

Hildreth  put  the  question  almost  inaudibly,  but 
Billy  heard,  and  replied 

"No." 

There  was  such  sweetness  and  gentleness  in  her 
tone  that  she  might  have  been  saying  "  yes." 

The  woman  watching,  who  could  not  hear,  thought 
she  had  said  "yes,"  and  remembered  yet  more  dis- 
tinctly that  she  had  always  believed  that  those  two 
opera-singers  were  in  love  with  each  other.  It  was 
quite  interesting  to  watch  them. 

Another  silence  fell.  There  were  more  people 
moving  about  as  the  time  for  sailing  drew  nearer; 
there  were  laughing  and  talking,  shrill  little  cries 
from  girls  who  were  very  girlish  and  vehement  in 
their  manner,  and  made  crescendoes  in  their  utter- 
ance, and  great  play  with  eyes  and  eyebrows. 

Hildreth  turned  from  the  rail. 

"  Curse  this  crowd  !"  he  exclaimed. 

He  drew  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it. 

"  There's  half  an  hour  yet.     May  I  stay  that  time  ?" 

Billy  had  taken  his  hand  and  was  holding  it  closely; 
there  was  an  agony  of  pity  and  self-reproach  in  her 
distended  eyes. 

"  Yes — yes,"  she  murmured. 

The  woman  watching  said  to  herself,  "  How  she 
loves  him  !" 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"But  this  infernal  mob!"  went  on  Hildrcth.  "I 
want  to  say  something  and  I  can't." 

Without  replying  Billy  led  the  way  to  her  room. 
Two  or  three  times  Hildreth  was  compelled  to  doff 
his  hat  to  smiling  ladies  who  knew,  and  perhaps 
adored,  the  handsome  tenor.  He  took  off  his  hat, 
but  he  scowled  blankly  at  them  as  he  did  so. 

Billy  sat  down  the  moment  she  reached  her  room ; 
Hildreth  closed  the  door  and  stood  with  his  back 
against  it.  He  looked  at  her  for  an  instant  before 
he  said,  abruptly : 

"  Your  mother  asked  me  something  about  you." 

This  remark  was  so  unexpected  that  Billy  had  no 
response  to  make  ;  she  sat  gazing  up  at  the  face 
before  her. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Hildreth,  "and  it  struck  me  as  odd 
that  I  hadn't  thought  of  the  same  thing.  She  said, 
'Who  is  it  that  Miny  loves?'" 

Billy  met  the  question  as  a  soldier  might  meet  a 
bullet  he  had  been  long  expecting.  It  is  true  that 
she  grew  white,  but  she  did  not  flinch ;  neither  did 
she  answer;  she  sat  quiet,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on 
Vane. 

Still  something  came  into  her  face  that  made  the 
man  say  instantly: 

"  Then  she  is  right !  There  is  some  one  whom  you 
love?" 

Even  now  she  did  not  lower  her  eyes  as  she  replied. 

"  Yes,  there  is  some  one." 

The  man's  poor  white  face  was  piteous  to  see.  At 
last  he  smiled  stiffly. 

"  Is  it  too  much  for  me  to  ask  his  name  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  You  mean  that  it  is  too  much,  or  that  you  won't 
tell?" 


WITH    ALL   MY    HEART 

She  shook  her  head  again.  For  the  instant  speech 
was  plainly  beyond  her. 

"  Those  letters,"  said  Hildreth.  He  drew  a  long 
breath.  "  Who  writes  those  letters  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

Hildreth  was  always  able  to  believe  her  spoken 
word  implicitly. 

"You  love  the  writer  of  them  ?" 

"Sometimes  I'm  sure  I  do." 

"  Ah  !"  on  a  whispering  breath.  "  I  must  find  out 
who  that  man  is." 

"  No — no.  If  you  should  harm  him  I  should  hate 
you,  and  then — " 

She  stopped  suddenly. 

"  And  then  what  ?" 

"Why,  I'm  not  sure — I'm  confused — " 

"  Not  sure  of  what  ?" 

Hildreth's  eyes  flashed.  He  could  almost  have 
thought  that  she  was  mocking  him. 

"  You  must  think  me  a  strange  being,"  said  Billy, 
"but  not  so  strange  as  I  think  myself.  I  love  the 
writer  of  those  letters,  not  because  he  has  ever  writ- 
ten a  word  of  love  in  them,  but,  somehow,  my  heart 
goes  out  to  him — I  can't  help  it." 

"You  call  it  mysterious  and  romantic — that's  why 
you  think  you  love  the  unknown  writer." 

Hildreth  spoke  hopefully.  "If  you  should  ever 
meet  him,  you  might — " 

"  I've  often  thought  of  that,"  interrupted  Billy,quick- 
ly ;  "perhaps  I  should  dislike  him  ;  a  personal  presence 
sometimes  repels  when — but  why  do  I  talk  like  this?" 

"  Let's  drop  the  whole  subject,"  began  Hildreth, 
eagerly.  "Just  give  me  a  chance  to  live  down  the 
influence  of  mere  letters — and  they  may  stop  com- 
ing," hopefully. 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

There  was  something  of  the  ridiculous  as  well  as 
of  the  pathetic  in  Hildreth's  position,  and  he  felt  it 
and  was  irritated  by  it ;  but  he  tried  to  hold  himself 
in  check. 

"  I've  often  thought  of  that,"  said  Billy  ;  "they  may 
stop  coming;  perhaps  they  have  stopped.  I've  had 
no  letter  to-day — for  the  first  day  since  they  began." 

Hildreth  said  "Ah!"  again,  this  time  as  a  joyful 
exclamation. 

"You  know  I'd  try  to  be  content  with  so  little; 
I  have  no  pride  as  far  as  you  are  concerned.  You 
hold  my  life  in  your  hands.  Billy,  you'll  forget  those 
letters — Billy  ?"  with  still  more  eagerness. 

She  threw  out  her  hand  in  a  gesture  which  he  could 
not  interpret. 

"  Oh,  Vane,  please  don't  begin  to  look  hopeful ! 
I  was  frightened  at  the  relief  I  felt  when  I  knew  you 
were  not  going — there,  I'm  hurting  you.  It's  dread- 
ful to  have  to  hurt  you.  Listen  to  me  now,  and  don't 
quite  hate  me — but,  yes,  hate  me  with  all  your  heart ; 
that  will  be  the  best  way.  There's  something  else." 

Here  Billy  rose  in  a  kind  of  pale  heat  of  excite- 
ment, though  her  movements  were  perfectly  quiet. 
She  went  to  Vane  and  put  her  hands  on  his  chest, 
pressing  them  there  as  if  to  emphasize  her  words, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  deprecate  their  effect. 

As  for  him,  he  waited  for  her  to  speak  again,  but 
as  she  remained  silent,  he  clasped  his  hands  over  hers 
and  said,  hoarsely : 

"How  can  there  be  anything  else?  Isn't  that 
enough?" 

"  Enough  ?    Oh  yes  ;  too  much.     I  bring  you  no 
good-luck,  dear  Vane.     I  never  meant  to  tell  you, 
but  I  must.     I  do  love  some  one — I  love  him  with 
all  my  heart — with  all  my  heart." 
3'4 


XLI 
HILDRETH'S    REFUGE 

HAVING  thus  spoken,  Billy  turned  away  and 
went   to   her   chair   again.       She   leaned   her 
elbows  on  her  knees  and  bent  her  face  to  her 
hands.     But  she  did  not  sob ;  she  sat  still. 

Hildreth  remained  quiet  also,  and  they  heard  the 
sound  of  people  hurrying  over  the  planks  above 
them,  and  through  the  bit  of  an  open  window  the 
soft  swish  of  the  water  against  the  boat's  side. 

Hildreth  felt  suddenly  dull ;  the  clearest  thought 
in  his  mind  was  that  he  had  but  a  few  moments  more 
before  the  steamer  would  start.  He  roused  himself 
and  mechanically  drew  out  his  watch ;  but  he  found 
that,  though  he  could  see  the  dial,  he  could  not  con- 
trol his  mind  sufficiently  to  tell  the  time. 

"  Who  is  that  man  ?" 

He  was  able  at  last  to  put  this  question. 

Without  raising  her  head  Billy  answered, 

"  It  will  do  no  good  for  you  to  know." 

"  Who  is  he  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  tell." 

Hildreth  stepped  forward  and  laid  his  hand  heav- 
ily on  his  companion's  shoulder. 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  he  repeated,  and  she,  still  in  the 
same  position,  repeated  her  answer. 

3*5 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

It  struck  him  suddenly  that  he  was  in  danger  of 
acting  like  a  vulgar  bully. 

"  Well,  good-bye,"  he  said.  "  I  believe  I  can  trust 
you.  It's  a  damned  muddle  we  are  in." 

He  opened  the  door  and  stepped  without  it ;  he 
returned  instantly,  bent  over  Billy,  and  kissed  her 
hair.  Then  he  ran  on  deck  and  to  the  gangway. 
Some  one  caught  his  arm  as  he  sprang  forward; 
as  he  shook  off  the  hold  he  saw  that  it  was  his 
sister  Bashy ;  but  he  could  not  speak.  He  hurried 
on  then,  on  the  wharf,  turned,  and  waved  his  hand 
to  her. 

Everybody  was  'leaving  the  boat  now,  save  those 
who  were  embarking.  Hildreth  pushed  through  the 
crowd  and  darted  among  the  carriages.  He  did  not 
pause  until  he  was  in  a  ferry-boat.  He  went  into 
the  bare  little  cabin  and  placed  himself  on  one  of 
the  benches.  He  was  thinking  confusedly  that  there 
must  not  be  in  his  manner  anything  melodramatic. 
He  believed  that  when  you  are  suffering  tragedy 
you  often  act  melodrama. 

Presently  the  little  boat  began  its  trip.  He  heard 
somebody  say,  "The  Cunarder  is  just  starting,"  but 
he  did  not  glance  about  him. 

On  board  that  Cunarder  Bashy  had  joined  Billy  in 
her  state-room.  She  went  up  to  where  the  latter  still 
sat  and  shook  her  somewhat  roughly. 

"  What  have  you  done  now?"  she  asked. 

"  Done?  Nothing,"  raising  her  head  and  looking 
at  the  girl.  Then  she  added,  quickly :  "  I  never 
wanted  to  make  him  unhappy.  God  knows,  I  tried 
to  do  as  well  as  I  could." 

She  rose,  stood  a  moment  looking  about  her,  then 
she  said:  "  I  wish  you  would  leave  me,  Bashy.  I  want 
to  be  alone." 

316 


GOING   TO  BUNK   ON   THIS    BOAT?'" 


HILDRETH'S   REFUGE 

So  Bashy  left  her  and  went  on  deck  to  watch  the 
coast  unfold  and  recede,  and  to  see  the  great  shaft 
of  Minot's  Light  come  nearer  and  then  be  left  behind. 
Bashy's  face  was  very  sober  as  she  stood  there  among 
the  outward-bound.  She  was  saying  to  herself  over 
and  over  : 

"  I  wonder  how  it  '11  turn  out — I  wonder  how  it  '11 
turn  out";  and  she  added,  "I  don't  like  the  looks 
of  it." 

Hildreth  did  not  leave  the  ferry  when  it  came  to 
the  slip  on  the  Boston  side.  He  continued  to  sit 
there  on  the  bench,  his  head  lowered  on  his  breast, 
his  arms  folded  loosely.  And  the  third  trip  the  boat 
made  he  was  still  sitting  there.  Mind  and  sense 
were  for  the  time  blurred. 

After  a  while,  as  the  hours  wore  on,  some  of  the 
"  hands  "  noticed  this  well-dressed  man  who  did  not 
leave  the  boat,  and  who  sat  so  quiet. 

"  Drunk?"  said  one  of  them. 

"  Opium  drunk,  then;  there's  no  liquor  about  that." 

Finally  one  of  them  went  up  to  Hildreth  and  shook 
his  shoulder. 

"  Come,  it's  getting  on  in  the  day — goin'  to  bunk 
on  this  boat?" 

Hildreth  raised  absent  eyes  ;  then  he  rose  and 
straightened  himself.  He  made  no  reply,  but  when 
the  boat  touched  the  slip  again  he  walked  to  the 
wharf.  It  was  nearly  sunset  now.  He  made  his  way 
to  a  hotel  on  Hanover  Street,  feeling  sure  that  he 
should  see  no  one  who  knew  him.  He  went  to  bed 
almost  immediately,  before  the  long  twilight  was 
over,  and  he  fell  asleep  directly,  sleeping  hard  and 
heavily  for  many  hours.  When  he  wakened,  the  twi- 
light of  the  new  day  was  coming  over  the  heavens. 

It  seemed  to  Hildreth  that  his  present  course  was 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

clear  to  him  now.  He  would  go  back,  as  quickly  as 
he  could  go,  to  the  farm  he  had  just  left.  He  loathed 
the  thought  of  staying  where  he  could  see  people ; 
and  he  wanted  to  be  near  Meloon. 

Therefore  it  happened  that,  in  the  afternoon  of 
that  day,  while  Meloon  was  walking  up  over  the 
height  of  the  sheep -pasture,  with  the  two  dogs 
demurely  nosing  about,  he  saw  a  man  coming  up 
on  the  other  side  of  the  slope  ;  the  next  moment  he 
recognized  Hildreth.  The  dogs  went  forward  for 
greeting,  but  Meloon  stood  still,  getting  a  grip  on 
himself,  as  he  phrased  it.  Then  the  two  men  clasped 
hands  closely,  looking  in  each  other's  eyes  a  moment 
in  silence. 

"  You  missed  the  boat  ?"  at  last  Meloon  said. 

"  No ;  I  had  an  hour  on  the  boat." 

"You  saw  her?" 

"Yes." 

Silence.  The  hands  of  both  men  were  thrust  into 
their  pockets,  and  they  were  gazing  off  towards  the 
blue  defile  of  The  Notch. 

"It's  no  use,"  at  last  Hildreth  said.  He  waited, 
and  then  he  added  :  "  She  said  she  was  relieved  when 
she  thought  I  wasn't  going.  Naturally,  I  decided  I 
wouldn't  go." 

Meloon  made  no  attempt  at  a  reply ;  nevertheless, 
for  some  reason,  Hildreth  drew  comfort  from  the 
man's  presence.  They  did  not  change  their  attitude. 

"  So  I've  come  back  here  to  farm  it  with  you,  if 
you'll  let  me." 

"All  right." 

"I  couldn't  think  of  a  place  under  heaven  where 
I'd  rather  be.  I'll  work  like  two  men." 

"  It  '11  be  enough  if  you'll  work  like  one." 

Without  turning,  Meloon  added  : 


HILDRETH'S    REFUGE 

u  Will  it  help  you  to  know  that  it  hasn't  been 
always  smooth  sailing  with  me?" 

"  Hasn't  it  ?"  quickly.  "  Somehow  I  thought  you 
never  ventured  into  deep  water." 

"  Yes,  I  did,  once." 

"  Shipwrecked  ?"  quickly. 

u  I  think  you'd  call  it  shipwrecked.     I  lost  her." 

Hildreth  moved  to  his  companion's  side ;  he  laid 
one  arm  over  Meloon's  shoulder. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  I  never  would  have  guessed  it.  Long 
ago  ? — the  wound  is  healed  ?" 

"  It  doesn't  make  much  difference  how  long  ago  it 
was  ;  and  I  can't  say  the  wound  is  healed.  I  thought 
I'd  tell  you.  A  man  sometimes  bears  things  better 
to  know  that  others  are  bearing  the  same  things. 
It's  cowardly  to  let  the  inevitable  spoil  one's  life." 

"  Easy  enough  to  say  that.  I  can't  help  it  that  my 
life  is  spoiled — but  it  is." 

Meloon  turned  now  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  face 
near  him. 

As  has  been  stated,  there  was  often  something 
feminine  in  Hildreth  when  he  was  suffering.  Per- 
haps it  was  this  something  that  appealed  so  to  the 
strong  man  beside  him.  Meloon  drew  Hildreth's 
face  towards  him  and  for  an  instant  pressed  his 
cheek  against  that  of  the  young  man. 

Then  the  two  went  on  down  the  pasture,  and  they 
came  upon  half  a  dozen  sheep  gathered  under  a  pine- 
tree.  The  sheep  looked  at  them,  their  queer,  light 
eyes  not  blinking  as  they  looked.  Meloon  thrust 
his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his  overalls  ;  he  found 
some  fragments  of  salt ;  he  flung  them  on  a  smooth 
rock,  and  presently,  as  the  sheep  scrambled,  other 
sheep  shoved  their  heads  above  a  neighboring  slope, 
then  came  trotting  briskly  forward,  lapping  eagerly 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

at  the  salt,  pushing  each  other,  but  curiously  gentle 
withal. 

The  men  stood  watching  for  a  few  moments  while 
the  sun  sank  behind  a  mountain  ;  then  dogs  and  men 
went  to  the  house,  and  presently  Hildreth  was  strid- 
ing down  to  the  cow-pasture,  calling  "  Coo !  coo  !" 
as  he  went ;  and  then,  from  among  the  balsam-trees 
in  the  valley,  there  sounded  the  "clank,  clank"  of  a 
cow-bell,  and  a  large,  solemn -faced  black  and  white 
cow  came  in  sight  leading  the  way  up  the  narrow 
path  among  the  blackberry  bushes  and  the  big  brakes. 
She  wore  the  bell,  and  behind  her  followed,  in  single 
file,  eight  or  ten  Holsteins  and  Jerseys,  coming  along 
sedately,  switching  their  tails  solemnly.  They  had 
had  their  outing,  but  it  was  not  yet  time  for  pasture- 
feed. 


XLII 
UNSTABLE   HILDRETH 

LIFE  was  very  simple  on  the  farm.     The  people 
rose  early  and  went  to  bed  early.      It  was  a 
kind  of  monotony  that  might  act  as  a  healing 
balm.    Twice  a  month  some  kind  of  mail  came  from 
over  the  water,  addressed  to  Mrs.  Armstrong.    Often 
it  was  a  package  of  papers,  sometimes  a  letter.    One 
of  these  letters  was  this : 

"  MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — I  must  send  you  word,  though  I 
have  nothing  of  importance  to  write.  I  am  prospering 
greatly  in  my  work;  they  all  praise;  I've  sung  before  the 
Queen — or  did  I  tell  you  that  before  ?  I've  been  bidden  to 
see  her  Majesty — she  was  so  kind — and  she  has  sent  me  a 
diamond  bracelet.  I'm  as  successful  as  I  ever  dreamed  of 
being.  I'm  well,  and  so  prosperous  that  I'm  confused  when 

I  think  of  it.     I'm  putting  money  in  the  W bank  in  your 

name,  mother,  so  that,  whatever  happens,  you'll  be  provided 
for.  I  know  you  would  rather  stay  where  you  are  until  I 
come  back.  One  day  I  shall  sail  away  for  America,  and 
then  you  and  I  will  live  somewhere  in  the  country,  and  grow 
old  together.  But,  as  for  me,  I'm  old  now.  Remember  me 
to  the  friends  on  the  farm,  and  hug  Lotos  for  me ;  pull  his 
clipped  ears,  and  tell  him  my  heart  still  beats  for  him.  Don't 
let  anything  happen  to  him.  I  cry  when  I  think  of  him,  but 
you  may  be  sure  I  don't  cry  at  any  other  time.  Bashy  says 
I'm  getting  to  be  the  hardest-hearted  woman  she  knows. 
I'm  glad  of  that.  I  wonder  if  you  are  as  much  of  a  Second 
Adventist  as  ever,  mother.  I  think  sometimes  I'm  getting 
x  321 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

to  be  an  Adventist  myself.  I  see  visions.  Bashy  thinks  I'm 
more  than  half  crazy  now,  that  success  has  turned  my  head, 
but  not  in  the  usual  way." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  read  these  letters  aloud  on  the 
winter  evenings  when  she  sat  at  her  side  of  the 
hearth,  and  the  two  men  listened. 

Once  Billy  wrote  : 

"  There  is  often  before  me  the  time  when  I  shall  lose  my 
voice.  I  don't  mean  the  time  when  it  has  gradually  worn 
out ;  it  won't  go  that  way.  It  will  go  as  it  did  that  night  in 
Milan.  Some  night  I  shall  step  out  before  the  footlights, 
and  the  audience  will  greet  me,  and  I  shall  try  to  sing,  and 
find  that  I  cannot.  That  will  be  the  last.  After  that  I  shall 
never  make  the  attempt  again.  Then,  mother,  you  and  I 
will  get  a  New  Hampshire  farm,  a  place  where  we  can  see 
The  Notch  from  the  windows  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
you  and  I  and  Lotos  will  live  there." 

When  she  read  this  letter  Mrs.  Armstrong's  voice 
broke  twice.  She  folded  the  sheets. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  I'm  crying  about," 
she  said,  putting  the  letter  on  the  stand  by  her  and 
laying  her  hand  upon  it.  "  She  seems  real  cheerful, 
don't  she  ?  And  if  she's  cheerful,  I  guess  we  can  be. 
I  don't  s'pose  she  need  to  be  thinkin'  she'll  lose  her 
voice  again.  Do  you,  Vane?" 

Hildreth,  thus  addressed,  turned  towards  the  wom- 
an. He  had  been  sitting  with  his  feet  stretched  t^w- 
ards  the  blaze  on  the  hearth,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
his  chin  resting  on  his  chest. 

"  What  did  you  say?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  repeated  her  remark.  Hildreth 
drew  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  wearily,  "  I  d  >n't  know— how  can  I 
322 


UNSTABLE    HILDRETH 

tell  ?  If  she  would  only  come  back  !  God  !  If  she 
would  only  come  back  !" 

This  was  the  first  time  the  young  man  had  per- 
mitted himself  any  outbreak.  Mrs.  Armstrong  stared 
at  him  anxiously.  Hildreth  sat  up  in  his  chair.  He 
laughed  slightly  as  he  spoke  again  in  his  ordinary 
voice. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  Mrs.  Armstrong." 

The  woman  shook  her  head. 

"  There  always  was  something  in  Miny  that  I 
couldn't  make  out,"  she  said.  "  I  wonder  if  she  will 
be  an  Adventist,  after  all." 

She  glanced  over  at  Meloon  ;  but  Meloon  was 
gazing  into  the  fire,  his  chin  firm  and  square,  the 
great  grizzled  mustache  sweeping  off  on  each  side  of 
his  face. 

He  made  no  response.  Presently  he  reached  his 
hand  down  and  let  it  rest  on  Trooper's  big  tawny 
head,  for  the  dog  was  lying  close  to  his  chair. 

That  night,  after  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  gone  up  to 
her  room,  Hildreth  asked  Meloon  to  bring  out  his 
violin. 

"  Let  us  call  up  the  ghosts,"  he  said.  "  You  haven't 
touched  your  violin  for  months,  and  you  keep  the 
piano  locked.  We'll  sing: 

"  '  The  gods  may  release 

That  they  made  fast; 
Thy  soul  shall  have  ease 

In  thy  limbs  at  last. 

But  what  shall  they  give  thee  for  life,  sweet  life  that  is 
overcast  ?' " 

"  No,"  returned  Meloon,  "  I  shall  not  touch  the 
violin ;  and  I  keep  the  piano  locked  lest  you  should 
bring  out  a  chord  on  it.  You've  done  well  to  keep 

323 


THE   MELOON    I  A  KM 

from  singing.  I'll  have  no  playing  or  singing  about 
this  house." 

Meloon  rose  to  his  feet ;  he  stood  there  tall,  with 
something  threatening  in  his  aspect ;  for  an  instant 
he  seemed  off  his  guard,  but  only  for  an  instant. 
Then  his  whole  mien  relaxed.  He  smiled  and  put 
his  hand  on  Hildreth's  arm. 

"I've  taken  a  notion  —  even  old  fellows  like  me 
have  their  notions,  you  see.  Shall  we  have  a  game 
of  chess  before  we  go  to  bed  ?  I'm  two  ahead  of  you 
now." 

The  two  sat  down  with  the  chess-men  between 
them;  Meloon  played  with  steady  power,  Hildreth 
wildly  and  without  interest,  until,  all  at  once,  he 
thrust  forth  his  hand  and  swept  pawns  and  queens 
and  knights  to  the  floor. 

"What's  the  use?"  he  cried.  "I've  been  wonder- 
ing lately  if  he  loves  her." 

Meloon  looked  at  him  in  silence.  He  raised  his 
hand  to  hide  a  sudden  and  uncontrollable  twitching 
of  the  lips.  At  the  instant  things  seemed  utterly  in- 
tolerable to  him,  and  he  asked  himself  how  they  were 
to  be  borne.  But  he  rallied  immediately ;  the  very 
thought  of  Billy  gave  him  power  to  rally. 

"That  man  whom  she  loves,  you  know,"  went  on 
Hildreth,  hurriedly.  "And  who  is  he?"  he  slapped 
his  open  hand  down  on  the  table — "who  in  hell  is 
he?" 

"  Hush  !" 

"  Pshaw  !  Don't  say  that  to  me.  Who  is  he,  I  say. 
Haven't  I  been  as  quiet  as  a  sheep  all  these  weeks? 
I  haven't  lisped  a  word;  but  a  man  isn't  a  sheep, 
after  all— he  has  hot  blood  in  him.  Who  is  he?  Is 
he  over  there  with  her?  Is  she  letting  him  make  love 
to  her  while  I'm  staying  here  milking  cows  and  feeil- 

3=4 


ing  pigs  ?  How  long  do  you  think  I'm  going  to  bear 
it,  eh  ?" 

"  You're  doing  what  you  chose,"  coldly  from  the 
other. 

"  So  I  am — so  I  am.  Well " — another  blow  on  the 
table — "I  don't  choose  it  any  more,  that's  all.  I'll  go 
over  there  ;  I'll  find  out.  I'll  shoot  somebody  ;  I  can 
at  least  shoot  myself,  and  so  clear  the  ground  for  her. 
That's  a  good  idea,  isn't  it,  Meloon,  to  shoot  myself  ? 
She'd  be  more  fond  of  me  than  ever  ;  she  says  she's 
fond  of  me.  I  swear  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of 
her.  I'm  going  over  there.  It's  the  only  way." 

Hildreth  turned  as  if  he  would  start  that  moment. 

Meloon  let  him  reach  the  door  before  he  spoke  his 
name;  then  he  spoke  it  with  a  sharp  note  of  author- 
ity. The  other  man  paused  with  his  hand  on  the 
latch. 

"  Do  you  mean  you're  going  to  cross  the  water  ? 
Do  you  mean  you're  going  to  join  her  ?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  mean,"  standing  at  the  door 
with  his  back  towards  Meloon. 

"  When  she  is  relieved  to  have  you  away  from  her? 
Be  a  man,  Hildreth,  be  a  man." 

Hildreth  took  a  step  and  dropped  into  a  chair.  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands  as  a  woman  might 
have  done. 

"Then  all  that's  left  for  me  to  do  is  to  take  my- 
self out  of  the  way,"  he  said. 

A  slight  vibration  seemed  to  pass  through  Meloon's 
frame.  He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  When  he  did 
break  the  silence  his  slowly  enunciated  words  whipped 
his  listener  as  a  lash  might  have  done. 

"  You  are  a  cowardly  creature  to  think  of  such  a 
thing.  Do  you  want  to  leave  a  legacy  like  that  to 
your  wife?  Do  you  believe  she  could  ever  be  happy 

325 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

if  you  had  killed  yourself  to  free  her?     Hildreth,  I 
have  no  patience  with  you." 

Another  silence.     At  last  Hildreth  uncovered  his 
face,  but  he  did  not  look  at  his  companion  ;  he  stared 
down  at  the  floor;  there  was  a  sullen  blackiu- 
his  countenance,  and  a  something  that  made  Meloon 
distrust  him. 

"  I  have  a  right  to  do  as  I  please,  and  I  shall  do  as 
I  please,"  he  said  finally. 

Then  he  rose  and  left  the  room.  Meloon  heard  him 
go  heavily  up  the  stairs ;  he  heard  the  door  of  his 
chamber  close.  After  that  everything  was  still. 

An  east  wind  had  risen  since  sunset,  and  it  was  now 
sobbing  between  the  eastward  hills  and  spreading  a 
deep  chill  everywhere.  Fine  particles  of  snow  floated 
on  this  wind,  and  this  snow  gradually  grew  dense 
enough  to  make  a  continuous  sharp  sound  on  the 
window-panes. 

Meloon  walked  about  the  room  for  a  time  after 
Hildreth  had  gone.  At  first  he  uttered  detached 
words,  but  he  soon  became  silent,  continuing  his 
monotonous  strides  back  and  forth,  back  and 
forth. 

Then  he  sat  down  by  the  hearth;  he  raked  the 
coals  together  and  gazed  at  the  scarlet  mass.  The 
clock  made  its  premonitory  noise ;  it  was  about  to 
strike  one. 

A  half  hour  passed.  Meloon  had  put  some  beech 
sticks  on  the  coals,  and  the  flames  went  straight  up 
the  chimney,  making  a  sound  as  of  wind  among  dry 
branches. 

Trooper  was  on  one  side  of  the  hearth,  Lotos  on 
the  other.  At  a  quarter  after  two  the  bull-terrier 
raised  his  head  and  growled.  Immediately  the  St 
Bernard  did  the  same.  Then,  noiselessly  and  swift- 

326 


UNSTABLE    HILDRETH 

ly,  they  sat  up  on  their  haunches,  listening,  ears 
raised,  eyes  dilated. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  boys  ?"  asked  Meloon. 

He  had  heard  nothing  save  the  fire  and  the  long 
sough  of  the  wind  and  snow. 

Nevertheless,  he  dropped  his  slippers  from  his  feet 
and  drew  on  the  great  rubber  boots  that  stood  in 
the  corner  just  the  other  side  of  the  kitchen  door. 
He  did  these  things  noiselessly,  listening  the  while. 

But  he  heard  nothing.  The  dogs,  after  being  at- 
tentive a  moment,  had  dropped  their  heads,  and  now 
lay  with  their  muzzles  between  their  extended  paws, 
their  eyes  bright  and  watchful. 

Meloon  sat  down  again  in  the  chair  in 'front  of  the 
fire  ;  he  had  brought  his  big  ulster,  and  it  lay  across 
his  knees.  He  had  done  this  mechanically,  however, 
and  was  hardly  aware  of  the  fact. 

The  wind  increased  as  the'  time  drew  on  towards 
morning. 

Meloon  went  to  the  window  and  peered  behind  the 
curtain;  he  could  see  the  white  rack  of  snow  driving 
past.  The  mercury  was  falling  steadily;  arabesques 
of  frost  had  already  covered  a  great  part  of  the 
panes  of  glass. 

Meloon  stood  irresolutely  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  He  lifted  his  ulster  from  the  chair  on  which 
he  had  flung  it  and  put  it  on,  not  knowing  why  he 
did  so. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  have  notions,"  he  said,  aloud; 
"sure  sign  of  a  weakening  mind." 

He  was  about  to  throw  off  the  coat  when  the  dogs 
sprang  up,  barking  furiously,  and  rushing  to  the 
door. 


XLIII 
MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER 

TROOPER  and  Lotos  clashed  at  the  door  so  im- 
petuously that  the  man  was  obliged  to  thrust 
them  away  to  make  room  for  himself.     When 
he  had  reached  the  entry  into  which  the  east  outer 
door  opened,  Mrs.  Armstrong  called  from  above  : 

"  Rawdon  !     Rawdon  !" 

"  Here  I  am.     What  is  it  ?" 

"Oh,  what  has  happened?  What's  the  matter 
with  the  dogs  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  t  Have  you  heard  anything?" 

"  Not  a  thing — and  I  couldn't  sleep.  Oh,  what's 
going  to  happen  ?  Where's  Vane  ?" 

Meloon  stood  below  in  the  entry,  with  a  lamp  in 
his  hand.  He  could  not  divest  himself  of  a  sense  of 
terror,  though  he  thought  himself  weak  on  account 
of  that  sense. 

"In  his  room,"  he  replied,  calmly;  "call  him." 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  in  wrapper  and  shawl,  stepped 
across  the  narrow  hall  and  rapped  loudly  on  Hil- 
dreth's  door. 

"  Vane  !"  she  called.     "  Vane  !" 

In  the  moment  of  waiting  Meloon,  below,  said : 

"We're  silly.  All  this  because  the  dogs  chose  to 
bark." 

And  he  did  not  understand  why  he  had  been  so 
startled. 

328 


MY   BROTHER'S   KEEPER 

Vane  had  not  answered. 

"  Call  again.    Odd  that  he  should  sleep  so  soundly." 

The  dogs  were  quiet  for  the  moment  ;  they  stood, 
one  on  either  side  of  Meloon,  gazing  up  the  stairs' 
with  him. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  called  once  more,  but  Meloon 
waited  no  longer.  He  ran  up  and  put  his  hand  on 
the  latch,  half  expecting  to  find  the  bolt  shot  across. 
But  the  door  opened  directly.  A  lamp  was  burn- 
ing ;  the  bed  had  been  tumbled.  A  russet-leather 
case  that  Meloon  knew  had  held  a  revolver  was  open 
and  empty.  A  gripsack  was  also  open,  and  some 
clothes  were  thrown  about.  He  held  the  lamp  here 
and  there,  looking  for  a  bit  of  paper.  Perhaps 
Vane  had  left  some  word.  Yes,  here  it  was  on  the 
shelf : 

"  Don't  worry  about  me.  A  man  can't  always  endure. 
1  take  the  pistol,  but  1  can't  decide  whether  to  use  it  on  him 
or  on  myself.  The  time  has  come  when  I've  got  to  know 
who  he  is.  Thanks,  Meloon,  thanks ;  you're  a  good  fellow, 
and  you're  well  rid  of  a  puling  weakling  like  me.  I  think 
I'll  bring  up  at  the  station  by  the  time  that  down  train 
comes;  or  if  I  don't,  no  matter.  I  say,  Meloon,  you're  a 
man ;  you're  worth  ten  of  me.  Now  I've  taken  my  pen- 
cil I  find  there's  a  lot  of  things  I  want  to  say.  It's  grow- 
ing cold,  I  fancy;  but  my  brain  is  hot  enough  to  keep  me 
warm.  I've  a  great  mind  to  live  until  I  find  that  fellow. 
Think  of  the  happiness  of  the  man  whom  Billy  loves !  By 
Jove  !  I  want  to  see  that  man  !  I  don't  understand  why  my 
fingers  run  on  so  with  this  pencil.  I  shall  get  out,  and  you 
won't  know  I'm  gone  until  the  morning.  Don't  forget  that 
the  Jersey  heifer  with  a  white  spot  on  her  face  will  kick  the 
pail  over  if  she  can  when  you  milk  her." 

Meloon  stood  an  instant  with  the  paper  in  his 
hand  after  he  had  read  the  last  word. 

329 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

"  He  hasn't  been  gone  long.  The  dogs  heard  him. 
I  shall  find  him,"  he  was  thinking. 

"  Oh,  what  is  it  ?"  from  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

Meloon  held  the  paper  towards  her.  He  did  not 
speak  until  he  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs ; 
then  he  called  out  : 

"I'm  going  after  him." 

He  fastened  his  coat,  drew  a  fur  cap  down  over 
his  ears,  and  stepped  out-of-doors,  the  dogs  push- 
ing by  his  legs  as  he  did  so,  and  careering  off  into 
the  storm — and  the  storm  was  thick  and  blinding. 
Meloon  returned  immediately  and  lighted  a  lantern; 
with  this  in  his  hand  he  started  in  earnest.  Mrs. 
Armstrong  hurried  down  to  the  door  and  screamed 
something  after  him,  what,  he  did  not  know,  and  he 
could  not  return  a  second  time  to  find  out. 

The  dogs  ran  hither  and  thither,  darting  back  as 
if  to  ask  the  man  if  he  were  coming.  The  wind 
came  down  through  snowy  gorges  in  long,  keen 
breaths,  then  gathered  itself  for  short,  sharp  buffets 
against  the  tall,  unwavering  figure  that  went  steadily 
on,  swinging  the  glimmering  light  from  its  left  hand 
and  planting  a  long,  tough  hickory  staff  in  the  snow 
at  each  step  with  his  right  hand. 

Meloon's  heart  was  heavy  within  him.  Emotions 
he  was  continually  smothering  were  as  continually 
rising  up  into  vivid  life.  One  temptation  came  to 
him  so  incessantly  that  at  last  it  seemed  to  take 
shape  in  the  form  of  a  face  which  smiled  and  jeered 
at  him.  But  he  kept  walking.  The  snow  was  drift- 
ing in  great  piles,  leaving  some  places  with  only  the 
old  snows. 

He  went,  without  hesitation  or  swerving,  down  the 
lane  that  led  to  the  sheep-pasture  ;  up  over  the  hill 
and  down  into  the  valley  where  the  old  mill-stream 

33° 


MY    BROTHER'S  KEEPER 

ran,  across  the  next  lot  where  the  white  birches  grew. 
Two  miles  of  this  "cross  lots"  led  to  the  road  which 
went  to  the  station,  now  five  miles  away.  If  a  man 
were  to  walk  to  the  railroad  station  from  the  Meloon 
farm,  this  is  the  way  he  would  naturally  go.  There- 
fore, Meloon  had  not  hesitated  as  to  the  course  he 
was  to  take.  He  found  out  in  one  moment  that  the 
snow  had  already  fallen  sufficiently  to  hide  any 
tracks  ;  indeed,  looking  behind  him,  he  saw  his  own 
footsteps  obliterated  even  as  he  watched ;  or  some- 
times one  mark  was  left  clear,  the  snow  swirling  away 
from  it  as  if  intentionally. 

He  knew  the  country  so  well  that  he  was  able  to 
keep  in  the  path  the  sheep  made,  but  a  snow-storm 
in  the  night  is  more  bewildering  than  to  be  placed 
in  a  strange  country. 

Meloon  had  left  the  low  land,  and  was  half-way 
up  the  sheep-pasture  hill,  when  he  saw  the  first  evi- 
dence that  Hildreth  had  not  changed  his  mind  ;  but 
why  should  he  change  his  plan,  since  he  would  not 
expect  to  be  followed  until  morning,  if  ever  ?  And 
what  reason  should  there  be  to  follow  ?  He  was  not 
clearly  aware  of  the  full  nature  of  the  note  he  had 
left  in  his  room.  When  he  had  written  it  the  domi- 
nant thought  in  his  mind  had  been  to  get  to  the 
station  in  time  for  that  train — in  point  of  fact,  he 
hardly  knew  how  much  of  anything  else  he  had 
written  down. 

And  he  also  knew  well  the  path  across  the  sheep- 
pasture.  The  old  snow  had  long  ago  formed  a  hard 
crust  over  which  a  man  might  walk.  The  dogs 
made  sallies  in  different  directions,  but  mostly  they 
kept  near  the  path  which  they  had  traversed  so 
many  times  ;  therefore,  aided  by  their  knowledge 
as  well  as  his  own,  Meloon  did  not  travel  many 

331 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

rods  out  of  his  way  as  he  went  across  the  pasture- 
lands. 

But  it  was  hard  work,  and  he  had  always  the 
thought  with  him  that  Hildrah  might  not  have 
been  so  well  able  to  keep  near  the  right  way.  Me- 
loon  faithfully  watched  for  footsteps  ;  once  his  lan- 
tern revealed  two  marks  pressed  into  the  new-fallen 
snow,  and  which  the  after-coming  storm  had  freak- 
ishly refrained  from  covering.  Then  he  went  on 
more  confidently. 

On  the  farther  slope  of  the  sheep-hill  the  wind  took 
him  as  if  it  had  been  a  giant  lying  in  wait.  It  struck 
him  a  good  buffet  full  across  the  chest,  and  made 
him  turn  his  back  suddenly  and  stand  still  to  recover 
breath. 

Another  giant  was  in  waiting  there  also,  one  which 
caught  at  him  and  whispered  again  that  he  was  a 
fool  to  take  all  these  pains.  For  what  ?  For  that 
which  stood  between  him  and  happiness.  But  Me- 
loon  shook  this  power  off  as  well  as  the  other,  and 
went  straight  on.  It  was  a  hand-to-hand  fight  with 
the  northeast  gale  from  now  on  to  the  end.  You 
who  have  struggled  with  a  snow-storm  in  northern 
New  England,  when  the  hard  particles  strike  your 
face  like  little  red-hot  needles,  and  the  wind  suffo- 
cates, know  what  these  four  miles  of  solitary  road 
were  ;  and  the  mercury  falling  steadily. 

It  was  a  long  journey,  and  a  hard  one,  but  Meloon 
was  used  to  hardness.  When  he  came  to  the  four 
corners,  where  a  guide-board  pointed  the  way,  he 
faced  round  to  leeward  and  at  last  extracted  his 
watch  from  his  pocket  and  held  it  to  the  lantern 
):ght.  It  was  a  quarter  to  four ;  he  was  just  one 
mile  from  the  station  ;  and  in  forty  minutes  the 
train  was  due.  Perhaps  he  would  find  Hildreth 

332 


MY    BROTHER'S    KEEPER 

there.  If  he  had  not  fallen  by  the  way,  Hildreth 
would  be  there — perhaps  he  had  fallen — perhaps  he 
had  used  that  pistol.  What  could  be  expected  of  an 
emotional,  womanish  being  like  Hildreth  ? 

Meloon  stood  quiet,  leaning  against  the  guide-board 
post.  He  was  trying  to  breathe  regularly  and  with- 
out that  sobbing  tendency  which  the  storm  induced. 
When  he  started  again  he  had  no  time  to  lose  if  he 
wished  to  reach  his  journey's  end  before  the  train 
came.  He  felt  sore  and  indignant.  Why  should  he 
have  this  care  over  that  man  ?  But  he  couldn't 
throw  off  the  care,  it  was  laid  upon  him. 

Now  he  started  out  again  ;  he  took  a  slow,  steady 
pace,  which  he  maintained  until,  in  the  thickness  of 
the  storm,  he  saw  the  shining  of  the  lamp  at  the  rail- 
way station. 

He  pushed  at  the  door ;  it  stuck  in  its  frame  ;  he 
pushed  again,  and  staggered  into  the  little  room, 
where  a  red-hot  cylinder  stove  made  the  atmosphere 
such  that  for  an  instant  it  was  to  Meloon  as  if  his 
windpipe  was  suddenly  shut  across.  He  gasped. 
The  agent,  dozing  in  a  chair  by  the  stove,  stood  up 
quickly,  half  awake. 

"  What  ?  Eh  ?  Oh,  Mr.  Meloon,  that  you  ?  Goin' 
on  this  train  ?" 

"No.     Where's  your  passenger?" 

"  My  passenger  ?  Thunder,  Meloon,  you  look  's  if 
you'd  walked — you  look  fit  to  drop." 

"  Isn't  Hildreth  here  ?" 

"The  young  feller  that's  a  singer — that's  been 
livin'  with  you  ?" 

"  Yes— yes." 

"  No  ;  I  'ain't  seen  him.    What  you  talkin*  about?" 

Meloon  had  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  now  sat 
with  his  head  thrown  back,  looking  at  the  agent. 

333 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

The  bits  of  ice  on  his  mustache  were  melting  and 
running  down  across  his  lips;  he  thrust  up  an  im- 
patient hand  and  brushed  them  away.  He  had  an 
appearance  as  if  he  would  seize  the  man  at  the  other 
side  of  the  stove  and  shake  him. 

"He  thought  of  taking  this  down-train,"  returned 
Meloon.  "You've  been  asleep;  you  wouldn't  know 
if  he  were  here." 

As  he  spoke  he  glanced  keenly  about  the  little 
bare  room. 

The  agent's  curiosity  sprang  up  in  full-fledged 
life. 

"He's  got  a  right  to  take  this  train,  'ain't  he, 
then  ?  What  you  want  to  stop  him  for  ?  Has  he 
be'n  robbin'  you  ?" 

"Robbing  me? — no.  But  I  must  see  him.  I  want 
to  make  sure — "  Here  Meloon  paused.  He  had 
been  going  to  say,  "to  make  sure  he  is  safe,"  but  the 
eager  inquisitiveness  of  the  face  on  the  other  side  of 
the  stove  stopped  him.  He  finished,  calmly,  "  I  must 
see  him  before  he  goes." 

"  I  guess  you'll  have  a  chance,  for  he  ain't  goin*  to 
take  this  train,  I  should  say  ;  it's  comin'  now." 

The  man  was  hurriedly  drawing  on  a  fox-skin  coat 
and  turning  the  collar  up  over  his  ears.  "Awful 
cold,"  he  announced.  In  the  sound  made  by  the 
storm  was  now  heard  a  different  noise,  the  continuous 
rumble  of  the  coming  locomotive. 

"Train's  late,  anyway;  didn't  know  but  'twould 
git  stalled  somewhere." 

But  Meloon  did  not  hear  this  remark.  He  had 
gone  out  again,  followed  by  the  dogs,  whose  jaws  hung 
open  as  if  it  had  been  a  summer  day. 

Meloon  darted  around  the  bit  of  a  building,  which 
was  surrounded  by  a  piazza.  He  saw  nothing  but 

334 


MY   BROTHER'S   KEEPER 

the  wall  of  moving  snow.  Then  he  took  his  station 
close  to  the  edge  of  the  platform.  He  would  see  if 
any  one  boarded  the  cars.  The  agent  was  now  out 
with  his  lantern.  The  black  engine  came  sliding  and 
crunching  over  the  rails,  dragging  the  long  train  of 
whitened  cars ;  a  snow-covered  brakeman  leaned  out, 
looking  ahead  ;  the  conductor  jumped  to  the  plat- 
form and  ran  along,  swinging  his  arms,  slapping  his 
chest. 

"Board!" 

Meloon  saw  the  conductor  throw  up  his  hand  at 
the  watching  engineer,  then  the  squeak  and  crunch 
and  slide  began  again,  and  the  train,  like  the  wraith 
of  a  train,  had  gone  on.  Surely  no  one  had  entered 
a  car. 

Meloon  stood  still,  even  after  the  agent  had  gone 
back  into  the  hot  room.  No  one  had  boarded  the 
train,  but  in  the  whirling  snow  far  ahead  he  thought 
a  figure  had  alighted;  he  forgot  that  fancy,  however, 
in  the  crowding  apprehensions  that  filled  his  mind. 
Perhaps  Hildreth  had  used  his  revolver  instead ;  and 
Meloon  felt  himself  to  be  Hildreth's  keeper.  He 
could  not  shake  off  that  conviction,  that  he  was  Hil- 
dreth's keeper. 

He  turned  about  and  entered  the  station  again ; 
the  agent  was  in  the  little  closet  where  he  sold  tickets, 
but  there  was  some  one  standing  by  the  stove.  Some- 
body tall  and  slight,  and  so  enveloped  in  furs  that  at 
first  it  was  difficult  to  tell  whether  the  stranger  was 
a  tall  boy  or  a  woman. 


XLIV 
TWENTY-EIGHT    BELOW 

MELOON  advanced ;  he  was  preoccupied  ;  he  was 
not  thinking  of  this  stranger.  The  dogs  had 
been  shut  out ;  they  now  scratched  violently 
on  the  door,  and  Meloon  opened  it.  Lotos  shot  in 
tumultuously  and  flung  himself  on  that  fur-wrapped 
figure,  which  knelt  to  receive  him,  crying  and  sob- 
bing with  him. 

Meloon  walked  to  the  stove  and  stood  looking  down 
at  the  group.  Billy  had  pushed  back  her  fur  hood 
and  some  locks  of  hair  fell  over  her  forehead ;  she 
was  flushed  and  tearful,  but  the  man  saw  that  her 
face  was  thin,  the  eyes  large  and  sunken. 

"You?"  he  said,  at  last. 

Still  on  her  knees,  Billy  looked  up. 

"You  couldn't  have  been  expecting  me,"  she  re- 
sponded. 

u  No — no." 

Meloon  seemed  to  have  given  himself  up  to  gazing 
at  her. 

"  Then  how  came  you  here  ?"  she  asked. 

She  rose.  Lotos  sat  down  and  pressed  against  her 
foot. 

He  did  not  reply.    He  took  a  step  forward  and  said: 

"  Let  us  greet  each  other  properly — let  us  shake 
hands." 

336 


TWENTY-EIGHT   BELOW 

• 

Billy's  gloves  lay  on  the  floor.  She  extended  her 
hands  and  Meloon  took  them.  The  two  looked  at 
each  other  for  an  instant  in  silence.  Then  Billy  said : 

"I  saw  you  before  the  train  stopped;  I  saw  you 
by  the  light  of  the  lantern.  I — I  was  glad  ;  I  was 
glad." 

Her  voice  was  almost  inaudible. 

Her  companion  did  not  speak  ;  he  still  held  her 
hands.  Then  he  dropped  them  and  turned  away.  He 
stooped  over  Trooper,  who  was  panting  and  slobber- 
ing close  to  the  stove.  His  own  hand,  as  he  put  it 
on  the  dog's  wet  head,  trembled  slightly.  For  the 
next  moment  he  seemed  to  be  giving  his  entire  atten- 
tion to  the  attempt  to  holding  himself  steady.  Just 
now  you  would  have  said  he  was  a  man  of  iron  ;  he 
thought  he  had  need  to  be. 

"  Is  my  mother  well  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Sometimes  I  believe  in  Providence." 

This  was  apparently  irrelevant.  Meloon  glanced 
at  her.  He  was  keenly  conscious  of  the  presence  of 
that  man  in  the  ticket-closet.  The  next  moment  the 
man  came  out  with  a  key  in  his  hand ;  he  reluctantly 
announced  that  "  he  'd  got  to  look  after  some  barrels 
in  the  freight-house  ;  there  was  always  some  darn 
thing  to  see  to  in  the  freight-house." 

He  opened  the  door  after  he  had  shut  it,  opened  it 
apparently  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  if  those  two  had 
run  away.  He  supposed  that  that  must  be  the  op- 
ery-singer  he  had  heard  had  been  living  at  Meloon's; 
he  thought  that  he  kinder  liked  her  face ;  he  resolved 
to  have  a  good  look  at  it  presently.  And  how  cu- 
riously she  and  Meloon  had  shaken  hands  —  just 
grabbed  each  other — perhaps  that  was  the  way  they 
did  in  opery.  And  Meloon's  eyes  had  shone — why, 
Y  337 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

what  was  there  goin'  on,  anyway  ? — and  where  was 
that  opery- feller  that  was  lost?  He  would  hurry 
back  and  ask  a  few  questions. 

By  the  little  red-hot  cylinder  stove  the  man  and 
woman  stood  in  silence  for  an  instant.  Then  Billy 
said  : 

"  I  must  believe  in  Providence  to-day — is  it  day  or 
night? — for  here  I  come  unexpectedly  in  this  dread- 
ful storm,  and  I  find  you  here — you  !" 

She  smiled  slightly  ;  her  face  had  a  way  of  looking 
singularly  care-free  when  she  smiled  as  she  did  now. 
She  puzzled  Meloon  in  that  she  could  look  in  this 
manner. 

"That  is  not  so  strange  as  that  I  should  find  you 
— when  I  believed  you  to  be  in  England." 

Billy  was  gazing  at  him  intently. 

"Your  face  is  worn,"  she  began,  not  appearing  to 
pay  any  attention  to  what  he  had  just  said.  "  I  have 
remembered  it  as  strong  and — and  noble.  I  have 
remembered  every  expression.  I  know  that  little 
line  on  the  left  side  of  your  chin  that  deepens  when 
you  are  amused  and  are  going  to  laugh.  You  look 
as  if  you  had  not  laughed  in  all  the  time  I've  been 
gone.  It's  been  a  long  while,  hasn't  it?  Days,  and 
weeks,  and  months  that  I've  been  away.  Mr.  Meloon, 
has  it  been  long  to  you?" 

"  Yes— yes." 

Would  he  be  obliged  to  ask  her  to  stop  talking  in 
this  way? 

She  extended  her  hands  over  the  top  of  the  stove; 
he  saw  that  they  were  thin,  and  that  they  wore  no 
rings.  His  eyes  fastened  upon  them. 

"  I'm  glad  that  it  has  seemed  that  way  to  you,  for 
I  wanted  you  to  think  so.  You're  sure  mother  is 
quite  well  ?" 

338 


TWENTY-EIGHT  BELOW 

"  Certainly,  she  is  well." 

He  was  waiting  for  her  to  inquire  for  Hildreth, 
and  presently  she  said: 

"  I  suppose  Vane  is  with  you?" 

"  He  has  been  with  me  all  the  time,  until — " 

"  I  wonder  why  people  are  allowed  to  make  such 
mistakes  as  I  made,"  she  interrupted.  "  Really,  it 
did  not  seem  my  fault." 

She  pressed  one  hand  qver  her  eyes  for  an  instant ; 
Meloon  saw  the  sorrowful,  tender  expression  of  her 
lips  below  that  hand.  He  walked  to  the  farther  end 
of  the  room  ;  he  hurried  back.  He  felt  as  if  she  were 
requiring  him  to  be,  indeed,  a  strong  man. 

Now  when  she  met  his  gaze  after  she  had  removed 
her  hand,  he  thought  her  eyes  wavered  curiously ; 
but  the  next  instant  they  had  grown  steady  again. 

She  returned  to  what  he  had  just  said,  and  which 
she  had  not  appeared  to  notice. 

"Vane  was  with  you  until — what  do  you  mean  by 
until?" 

"  Until  this  morning,  or  last  night.  He  said  he 
couldn't  stay  any  longer.  I  was  looking  for  him — I 
came  here  to  see  if  he  took  this  train ;  I  thought  he 
meant  to  take  it.  I  am  anxious  about  him." 

Instead  of  becoming  anxious  also,  Billy  said, 
quickly  : 

"You  are  taking  care  of  Vane,  too.  You  are  just 
what  I  have  thought  you  were.  As  for  me,  I  am 
nothing — nothing.  I  became  tired  of  singing,  so 
tired  of  having  people  grow  wild  over  me,  and  of 
seeing  and  smelling  all  the  flowers  they  sent  .me — 
just  deadly  tired  of  the  whole  thing.  So  I  ran  away. 
I  broke  my  contract,  but  I  can  pay  for  that." 

Here  she  smiled,  and  that  peculiar  look  showed  in 
her  eyes  again. 

339 


THE  MELOON   FARM 

Meloon  came  nearer ;  he  took  her  hand  and  drew 
it  through  his  arm. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  sit  down,;1 
he  said.  He  led  her  to  a  chair  and  she  placed  herself 
in  it.  She  continued  gazing  up  at  him. 

"  Have  you  lost  your  voice  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh  no,"  with  a  slight  eagerness  of  manner;  "  my 
voice  is  fine.  It  was  never  so  magnificent  as  now. 
Listen,  and  judge  for  yourself." 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  began  to  sing : 

"  '  In  this  world,  the  Isle  of  Dreames, 
While  we  sit  by  Sorrow's  streames, 
Feares  and  terrors  are  our  themes, 
Reciting ..." 

She  had  spoken  truth.  In  the  gloomy,  hot  room 
the  tones  rang  clear,  and  true,  and  dramatic. 

But  when  she  had  sung  the  last  note  her  head 
drooped.  Meloon  took  her  m  his  arms  in  time  to 
prevent  her  from  falling  to  the  floor.  She  smiled 
into  his  face,  grew  yet  whiter,  then  closed  her  eyes. 

He  stood  there  holding  her  for  a  moment  before 
the  station-agent  returned. 

"Gracious!"  cried  that  person,  running  forward. 
"She  'ain't  fainted,  has  she?  It's  the  Armstrong 
gal,  ain't  it  ?  Her  mother  lives  to  your  house,  don't 
she  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  can't  you  bring  a  glass  of  water?" 

"  I'll  fetch  some  snow  ;  the  last  water  froze  up  V 
bu'st  the  pail,  'n*  I  thought  I  wouldn't  try  it  ag'in 
till  it  moderated." 

The  man  ran  out  and  returned  with  his  hands  full 
of  snow.  Meloon  took  some  and  pressed  it  on  Billy's 
forehead  and  wrists.  He  sat  down,  holding  her  in 
his  arms. 

34o 


TWENTY-EIGHT  BELOW 

"  I  wish  you'd  get  a  horse  and  cutter  here  right 
away,"  he  said.  "  I'm  afraid  she 's  going  to  be  ill." 

"  You  wouldn't  take  a  horse  out  in  this  storm, 
would  you  ?"  in  surprise. 

There  was  some  savageness  in  Meloon's  manner  as 
he  replied  : 

"  Yes,  I'd  kill  the  horse  if  necessary.  She  must  be 
taken  to  her  mother.  I  don't  care  what  I  pay  for  it. 
We  go  before  the  wind  on  the  way  home." 

The  man  turned  away;  he  knew  he  must  obey  that 
command,  and  he  resolved  to  offer  his  own  horse ; 
Meloon  was  so  masterful  you  couldn't  argue  with 
him. 

Meloon  sat  perfectly  stiH  with  his  burden  when  the 
agent  had  gone.  He  applied  the  melting  snow  for  a 
moment  longer  before  Billy  opened  her  eyes.  When 
she  had  looked  in  his  face  she  dropped  her  lids  again, 
as  if  she  were  at  peace.  She  raised  one  arm  and 
placed  it  on  his  shoulder,  moving  a  little  nearer  to 
him  ;  she  did  not  try  to  speak. 

After  a  time  the  sound  of  bells  approaching  be- 
came audible — old-fashioned,  clanging  bells  instead 
of  the  modern  jingling  ones.  They  paused  at  the 
rear  of  the  building,  and  then  the  agent  came  in 
puffing  and  stamping  his  feet,  snow  on  his  shoulders 
and  sifted  over  him. 

"  Here's  my  team,"  he  announced ;  "  you'll  have  to 
drive  yourself ;  I  wouldn't  go  seven  miles  for  seven 
thousand  dollars  in  this  storm.  My  wife  says  you'd 
better  come  over  there  'n'  stay  till  it  clears  up.  She'll 
do  the  best  she  can  by  the  gal." 

Meloon  did  not  hesitate.  "  I'll  take  her  home 
while  I  can.  Her  mother  is  there — she'd  better  be 
there." 

"  Jes*  's  you  say,  of  course  ;  but  you'll  find  it  tough 
34i 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

— V  mercury  goin'  down  all  the  time.  It  can't  snow- 
much  longer  if  it  keeps  on  growin'  cold,  that's  one 
thing  about  it ;  but  the  snow  '11  blow  'n'  be  'bout  's 
bad.  Here's  her  hood." 

He  picked  up  the  sealskin  hood  that  had  fallen  to 
the  floor.  Billy,  who,  though  she  had  seemed  to  re- 
cover from  her  faint  and  had  her  eyes  open,  made 
no  remark,  and  was  entirely  passive. 

Meloon  placed  the  hood  on  her  head,  and  then  she 
raised  her  hands  and  tied  the  strings,  doing  it  me- 
chanically, as  if  she  were  not  aware  of  her  own  move- 
ment. 

"  You're  takin'  a  thunderin'  resk,  now,  I  tell  ye, 
Mr.  Meloon,"  remarked  the  man  ;  "  I  hate  to  sec  ye 
do  it." 

"Are  there  plenty  of  robes  in  the  cutter?"  inquired 
the  other. 

"Crammed  full;  'n'  my  wife  has  tucked  in  two 
jugs  of  b'ilin'  water,  besides  a  hot  brick  for  the  gal 
to  hold  in  her  lap." 

Meloon  rose  and  went  to  the  door,  which  the  agent 
threw  open.  A  blast  of  fine  snow  struck  them  full 
in  front.  But  they  pushed  forward. 

"  By  George,  you  be  set !"  cried  the  man. 

The  horse  was  hitched  to  a  ppst  of  the  piazza,  and 
the  agent  went  to  his  head  while  Meloon  put  his 
burden  on  the  seat  and  drew  the  fox-skins  up  about 
her.  He  ordered  Lotos  to  lie  down  at  his  mistress's 
feet,  and  the  dog  gladly  obeyed.  All  the  time  the 
snow  was  drifting  over  them. 

"  I  do  hate  to  have  ye  start,"  exclaimed  the  agent. 

"Give  me  the  reins,"  said  Meloon. 

The  man  flung  the  horse-blanket  into  the  sleigh  ; 
he  handed  the  reins. 

"  The  mare  c'n  go,"  he  said  ;  "  she  c'n  go  in  cold 
342 


TWENTY-EIGHT   BELOW 

weather  like  the  old  Harry — 'n'  you  needn't  spare 
her.  I'll  be  over  some  time  'fore  night,  if  it  clears, 
'n'  git  her.  Stiddy,  there,  now  !  She's  a  bright  one, 
'n'  she'll  keep  to  the  road  if  anything  can." 

But  no  one  heard  the  last  sentence  save  the  speaker 
of  it. 

The  mare  had  darted  forward,  and  the  storm  had 
swallowed  up  the  cutter  and  its  contents.  The  great 
St.  Bernard  dashed  on  behind. 

The  agent  ran  into  the  station  and  stood  close  to 
the  red-hot  stove.  He  stamped  his  feet,  for  his  toes 
ached. 

"  I  vow  that  Rawdon  Meloon  always  was  the  most 
pig-headed  critter  I  ever  did  see,"  he  said,  with  some 
violence.  "  If  he  sets  out  to  do  a  thing,  he's  bound 
to  see  it  through.  I  say  a  feller  "s  got  to  have  an 
awful  sight  of  good  judgment  to  be  so  set." 

Presently  he  took  his  lantern  and  went  to  the 
north  side  of  the  building  to  examine  a  thermometer 
that  hung  there.  He  squinted  at  the  line  of  mercury, 
hunching  his  shoulders  against  the  wind. 

"  Twenty  -  eight  below  —  it'll  be  lower  'fore  its 
higher,  I'll  bet." 


XLV 
AS   SAFE   AS    IN    HEAVEN 

MELOON  sat  with  his  head  canted  to  one  side, 
his  heavily  mittened  hands  holding  the  reins, 
while  the  spirited  little  mare  fled  along  the 
drifted  way,  jerking  the  cutter  violently  up  and 
down  as  it  went  over  hummocks  and  down  into 
thank-you-ma'ams.  They  flew  on  before  the  wind 
as  if  driven  by  it.  In  a  momentary  parting  of  the 
drift  three  stars  were  visible,  bright,  clear,  unpity- 
ing.  Yes,  it  was  too  cold  to  storm  ;  the  icy  particles 
that  filled  the  air  were  not  coming  from  above  now. 
But  it  was  cold  ;  even  though  the  wind  was  behind 
them,  it  was*  cold. 

"  Where  are  we  going?" 

The  sleigh  was  sliding  over  a  level  space  between 
two  hills.  Apparently  the  mare  had  thus  far  kept  to 
the  road,  but  her  driver  could  not  see  plainly  enough 
to  guide  her  in  the  least,  and  there  was  no  track. 
Still,  horses  bred  in  this  hilly  region  were  wise  creat- 
ures ;  one  might  trust  in  them  to  a  wonderful  de- 
gree, and  be  justified  in  that  trust. 

There  was  at  first  no  reply  to  that  question,  and  it 
was  repeated. 

"Home"  was  the  answer.  Meloon  did  not  turn 
his  head.  He  watched  incessantly  on  both  sides,  and 
he  was  sometimes  rewarded  by  a  flying  glimpse  of  a 
few  stones  that  he  knew  belonged  to  an  old  wall,  or 


AS   SAFE  AS   IN   HEAVEN 

the  sprawling  arms  of  a  stump-fence  in  some  low 
space  of  ground  between  hills.  These  things  darted 
by  him  as  if  he  were  dreaming.  He  was  so  familiar 
with  every  square  foot  of  land,  every  object  for  miles 
around,  that  a  glimpse  told  him  exactly  where  he 
was.  At  the  foot  of  Blackberry  Hill — three  miles 
more  to  go.  The  man  took  heart  of  grace.  He 
hoped  that  his  companion  would  not  speak;  the 
hearing  of  her  voice  made  it  more  difficult  for  him 
to  keep  what  watch  was  possible.  There  was  a  cor- 
ner in  a  quarter  of  a  mile ;  he  was  quite  sure  that 
the  mare  would  want  to  turn  this  corner,  for  that 
road  led  behind  the  mountain  to  another  highway 
by  which  the  animal  could  reach  her  home.  As  she 
approached  this  turn  her  driver  could  feel  her  lower 
herself  and  stretch  away  still  faster  over  the  packed 
snow  which  upheld  the  sleigh's  runners. 

"  I've  longed  to  be  at  home,"  said  Billy,  from  among 
the  furs  which  were  heaped  on  her. 

Meloon  shuddered;  it  seemed  to  him  that  there 
was  a  curious  tone  in  her  voice,  as  there  had  been  a 
curious  flicker  in  her  eyes.  No  matter,  he  was  bound 
to  take  her  in  safety. 

"You'll  like  to  have  me  at  home?"  she  said,  inter- 
rogatively. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  like  to  have  you  there." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that ;  I  know  you  wouldn't  say  that 
to  me  if  it  were  not  strictly  true.  I  can  believe 
everything  you  tell  me — everything." 

No  response.  The  mare  was  flying  up  towards 
the  corner.  Meloon  flung  himself  forward  on  the 
reins,  and  he  needed  all  his  strength  to  keep  her 
straight  ahead.  She  strained  away  to  the  right, 
determined  to  turn,  and  her  driver  was  as  deter- 
mined that  she  should  not  turn.  It  was  the  driver 

345 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

who  conquered ;  but  the  mare,  disgusted,  threw  out 
her  hind  legs  and  sent  her  iron-shod  feet  crashing 
through  the  thin  dashboard,  which  splintered  and  fell 
apart.  Lotos  sprang  up,  growling  ;  Billy  laughed. 

44 1  know  that  corner,"  she  said.  "  Doesn't  it  lead 
behind  the  mountain  ?" 

"  Yes.     Are  you  warm  ?" 

"  Of  course ;  why  shouldn't  I  be  ?  You  would  take 
care  of  me,  anyway." 

She  spoke  like  a  child. 

"  God  knows  I  would,"  he  returned,  solemnly. 

The  strain  on  arms  and  attention  was  relaxed ; 
the  mare's  pace  slackened.  The  mountain  was  now 
between  them  and  the  force  of  the  gale,  and  it  would 
shelter  them  for  the  rest  of  the  way.  The  glimpses 
of  the  stars  became  more  frequent — far,  and  cold, 
and  cruel  they  looked,  as  stars  do  look  with  a  ther- 
mometer thirty  below  zero. 

"Perhaps  Vane  will  come  back,  as  he  did  be- 
fore." 

Billy  appeared  to  be  giving  utterance  to  a  thought 
rather  than  to  be  addressing  her  companion. 

Vane  !  Meloon  knew  with  a  pang  that  he  had 
forgotten  Hildreth  as  completely  as  if  he  could  never 
remember  him  again. 

"  Has  Vane  been  happy  here?"  asked  Billy. 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  No ;  he  has  not  been  happy. 
What  person  among  us  is  happy?" 

"Oh,  do  you  ask  such  a  question  as  that,  Mr. 
Meloon?  It's  wrong  to  ask  that  when  here  I  am. 
I'm  happy.  Why,  when  I  was  singing  over  there 
there  used  to  come  suddenly  before  me  a  picture  of 
the  farm,  and  the  mountains  around  it,  and  the  sky 
above  it,  and  the  audience  would  melt  away  while  I 
sang  to  the  picture  before  me.  And  you  were  always 

346 


AS  SAFE  AS   IN    HEAVEN 

in  the  picture — you,  Mr.  Meloon.  I  sang  to  you  more 
than  to  any  one.  Did  you  hear  me  ?" 

"Yes,  I  heard  you,"  he  answered,  in  a  low  tone. 
Then  he  said,  more  distinctly:  "Don't  talk,  Billy. 
You're  tired." 

"  Oh  no,  I'm  not  tired  in  the  least.  I'm  so  happy 
to  be  back  here  that  I  couldn't  possibly  feel  tired. 
And  here  is  Lotos  with  me — dear  old  Lotos." 

Her  voice  was  low,  but  it  reached  Meloon's  ears. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  holding  a  far  sterner 
check  over  his  own  heart  than  over  the  animal  he 
was  driving — he  wished  that  he  might  in  some  way 
curb  himself  with  a  hard  hand,  a  hand  that  should 
hurt  him. 

"  I  thought  that  the  boat  would  never  get  across 
the  ocean,"  went  on  Billy;  "it  just  crawled,  and  the 
hours  would  not  pass.  You  know  I  didn't  have 
Bashy  with  me  ;  Bashy  didn't  know  I  was  coming. 
She  has  been  saying  to  me  all  the  time  that  I  never 
sang  so  well ;  that  I  was  silly  not  to  care  more  for 
my  singing  ;  but  I  couldn't  seem  to  care  after  the 
very  first,  though  I  tried — I  did  really  try." 

As  there  was  no  response,  Billy  became  silent,  but 
she  could  not  keep  silent  long.  Her  mind  was  run- 
ning happily  on  different  subjects,  and  she  was  dis- 
posed to  talk. 

"  There  was  another  thing,"  she  began  again, 
"  that  made  me  want  to  come  back  to  this  country ; 
I  cared  a  great  deal  about  this  reason  while  I  was 
over  there,  but  somehow  I  don't  think  much  about 
it  now.  That's  because  I've  found  you,  Mr.  Meloon. 
It  is  as  if  a  lovely  peace  had  settled  upon  my  soul — 
to  find  you.  I  was  wondering  how  it  would  be  when 
I  reached  the  station ;  it  stormed  so  that  I  was  afraid 
that  I  couldn't  get  any  one  to  take  me  over  to  the 

347 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

farm.  Then  I  said  to  myself, '  I  will  walk.'  I  believed 
that  the  Lord  would  help  me  to  get  there  some  way. 
I  didn't  know  He  was  sending  you  there ;  if  I  had 
known  that  I  wouldn't  have  worried.  I  was  afraid  of 
making  a  mistake.  I  did  make  a  mistake;  I  landed 
yesterday  in  New  York.  I  was  thinking — thinking  of 
you,  Mr.  Meloon  ;  you're  always  in  my  thoughts.  I 
meant  to  take  the  train  for  Boston  and  then  come 
up  here,  but — it  was  strange,  wasn't  it? — I  went  into 
the  wrong  car,  and  I've  been  to  Albany  ;  that's  why 
I  came  on  a  downytrain.  My  thoughts  were  confused 
part  of  the  time,  so  that  I  didn't  always  quite  know 
what  I  was  doing.  But  now  my  mind  is  as  clear — 
just  as  clear.  And  so  is  my  voice."  She  hummed  : 

"  '  Night  wind,  whispering  wind. 

Wind  of  the  Carib  sea ! 
The  palms  and  the  still  lagoon 
Long  for  thy  coming  soon — ' " 

"Trooper  looks  like  a  great  bear  loping  along  in 
the  road,  doesn't  he?"  she  k  ;  "the  snow 

covers  him  so  that  you  can't  see  his  color.  What 
if  there  were  wolves,  Mr.  Meloon,  and  they  should 
come  running  after  us,  would  you  throw  me  out  so 
that  you  might  escape?— as  the  woman  threw  out 
her  children  in  that  dreadful  story.  Would  you  ?" 

Mr.  Meloon  felt  his  companion  move  towards  him. 
He  glanced  at  her,  and  could  just  see  her  eyes  shin- 
ing from  among  her  wraps. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  knowing  that  she  would  insist 
upon  his  replying;  "I  would  not  throw  you  out." 

"  Not  even  to  save  your  own  life  ?" 

"Not  to  save  my  own  life.  You  are—"  But 
Meloon  did  not  finish  his  sentence. 

Billy  laughed  with  an  inflection  of  sheer  gayety. 
348 


AS   SAFE   AS   IN    HEAVEN 

"  I  was  sure  you  wouldn't.  I'm  as  safe  with  you 
as  if  I  were  in  heaven." 

"  Luckily,  there  are  no  wolves,"  remarked  Meloon, 
in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 

He  chirruped  to  the  mare,  whose  speed  had  abated 
since  she  had  passed  the  corner.  He  was  asking 
himself  if  h3  should  ever  reach  his  home.  Would 
she  go  on  talking  ? 

Another  pause.     Then  Billy  said : 

"  There's  something  else — but  did  I  tell  you  that  ? 
Did  I  ?" 

"  Perhaps  ;  I  can't  say." 

The  mare  seemed  to  be  merely  dragging  over  the 
snow ;  her  driver  slapped  the  lines  on  her  back, 
reaching  forward  as  if  he  would  lift  her  along.  He 
felt  that  even  his  strength  would  not  enable  him  to 
bear  this  much  longer. 

"  I've  been  wanting  to  tell  you,"  she  resumed, 
"  how  I've  missed  the  letters.  I  don't  mean  those  from 
all  sorts  of  people ;  I  don't  care  for  them  any  more. 
It's  the  type-written  ones  that  used  to  come  every 
day.  I  used  to  live  on  them — they  sustained  me. 
It  wasn't  so  much  what  there  was  in  them  as  that 
they  suggested  hope,  and  courage,  and  the  possi- 
bility of  a  life  higher  than  I  could  grasp  alone. 
Vane  knew  about  them ;  sometimes  he  read  them, 
but  he  wasn't  interested  in  them.  Are  you  listening, 
Mr.  Meloon?" 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  And  are  you  interested  ?" 

"I'm  deeply  interested." 

"That  makes  me  so  glad.  I  don't  want  to  bore 
you,  you  know." 

She  paused ;  it  was  as  if  she  were  smiling  to  her- 
self in  the  silence.  Instead  of  going  on,  she  began 

349 


THE  MELOON    I-AKM 

to  sing  again  in  the  same  half-voice  she  had  used  a 
few  moments  before : 

"  '  Cold  and  fair 
Sits  she  there 
Calling  the  tides.' 

That's  the  moon,  you  know.  Is  there  a  moon  to- 
night ?  I've  often  wondered  how  it  is  that  the  moon 
calls  the  tides.  Don't  you  ever  wonder  about  that, 
Mr.  Meloon?" 

"  Yes,  often.  Really,  you  ought  not  to  talk ;  you 
should  rest." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  resting — for  the  first  time  since  I 
left  the  farm  last.  I  was  born  in  the  country,  and 
it's  there  I  love  to  live.  Did  you  ever  hear  this  ?" 

She  sang : 

"'O,  Helen  fair,  beyond  compare! 
I'll  make  a  garland  for  thy  hair. 
Shall  bind  my  heart  forever  mair. 
Until  the  day  I  die.' 

That's  fair  Helen  of  Kirconnell.  It's  something  I 
sang  one  night  when — but,  do  you  like  this  better: 

" '  How  is  it  wi'  my  gay  goss-hawk, 
How  is  it  wi'  my  doo?' 

'Twas  Mary  Stuart  who  sang  that ;  or  was  it — but 
it  makes  no  difference — I'm  sure  that  she  couldn't 
sing  as  well  as  I  can.  When  I  was  alone  I  used  some- 
times to  chant  something — perhaps  you  know  it : 

" '  Behold,  when  thy  face  is  made  bare,  he  that  loves  thee 

shall  hate; 

Thy  face  shall  be  no  more  fair  at  the  fall  of  thy  fate. 
For  thy  life  shall  fall  as  a  leaf,  and  be  shed  by  the  rain ; 
And  the  veil  of  thine  head  shall  be  grief,  and  the  crown 
shall  be  pain.' 

350 


AS   SAFE   AS  IN   HEAVEN 

That's  sad,  I  suppose.  But  I  don't  feel  that  I  shall 
ever  be  sad  again,  now  I've  found  you.  Perhaps  I 
sha'n't  even  miss  those  letters.  You  said  mother 
was  very  well  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Why,  the  storm  is  gone — does  the  wind  blow  as 
hard  now  ?  And  it  seems  as  if  day  is  coming.  The 
sun  will  shine  since  I'm  with  you.  Is  that  the 
house  ?  Mother  has  a  light.  Did  she  know  you  were 
going  after  me?  But,  no  ;  you  didn't  know  it  your- 
self. How  good  it  is  to  be  happy  again !  I  feel  as 
if  there  were  a  beautiful  fire  running-  through  my 
veins.  Let  me  get  out  and  hurry  to  mother.  There 
she  is." 

Meloon  had  stopped  the  steaming  mare  in  front  of 
the  house,  and  at  the  same  time  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  appeared  with  a  lamp  in 
one  hand  while  the  other  held  a  shawl  over  her  head. 

"  That  you,  Rawdon  ?"  for  her  own  light  blinded 
her,  and  she  knew  that  Meloon  had  started  out  on 
foot. 

"You  found  him?" 

Billy  was  trying  to  throw  off  her  many  wraps. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Meloon,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You've  got  him,  I  see,"  from  the  doorway.  "Well, 
I  am  thankful." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  didn't  find  him.     I  must  go  again." 

Meloon  had  stepped  out  into  the  snow.  He  was 
trying  to  prevent  Billy  from  essaying  to  walk  ;  but 
she  would  make  the  attempt.  She  swayed,  but  he 
took  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  up  to  the  door, 
Mrs.  Armstrong  backing  away  as  he  came  forward, 
whispering,  stridently: 

"  Oh,  'tain't  really  Miny,  is  it?  It  can't  be — no,  it 
can't  be !" 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

"Yes, 'tis  Miny,"  said  the  daughter.  "  I  could  have 
walked  in  well  enough — "  She  rose  from  the  chair 
in  which  Meloon  had  placed  her  by  the  hearth.  "  I'm 
perfectly  well,  and  so  glad — so  glad.  I  want  to  live 
in  the  country — I  want — " 

She  was  smiling  in  a  blissful  way  as  she  ceased 
speaking  and  put  her  hand  to  her  head. 


XLYI 
AT   THE   FARM-HOUSE 

IT  was  her  mother  who  took  her  in  her  arms  now 
and  half-carried  her  to  the  couch  in  the  room. 
Mrs.  Armstrong  put  her  on  the  couch  and  knelt 
down  beside  her.    Without  taking  her  eyes  from  the 
face  on  the  pillow,  the  elder  woman  said : 

"  I  wish  you'd  go  right  after  the  doctor,  Rawdon." 

Meloon  came  and  stood  over  the  two  women  for 
an  instant,  gazing  down  at  the  younger  one,  who  was 
not  unconscious,  apparently,  though  her  eyes  were 
closed.  She  was  still  smiling,  and  she  looked  per- 
fectly happy,  as  she  had  said  that  she  was.  Meloon's 
hands  hung  clinched  at  his  side.  His  features  were 
rigid. 

He  turned  away  and  left  the  room  ;  he  took  his 
lantern  and  led  the  mare  to  the  barn.  Every  move- 
ment he  made  told.  It  was  not  five  minutes  before 
the  mare  was  standing  in  the  place  of  a  horse  which 
Meloon  was  harnessing  into  the  sleigh.  He  stepped 
in  and  drove  to  the  door  again. 

"  I'm  going,"  he  said.  "  Is  there  anything  I  can 
do  first?" 

"  Put  Miny  on  the  bed  in  the  next  room.  I'm 
going  to  try  to  give  her  a  sweat  while  you're  gone. 
I've  got  to  do  something,  or  I  shall  be  crazy.  I  can't 
ask  you  a  thing  now.  She's  goin'  to  be  dretful  sick, 
I  do  believe." 

z  353 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"You'll  do  what  you  can.  I  shall  telegraph  to 
Hart\vell,of  Boston.  He  can  come  in  the  first  train. 
He  can  get  here  almost  as  soon  as  the  doctor  from 
Plymouth." 

Meloon  had  put  Billy  down  on  the  bed  in  the  next 
room  ;  she  clung  to  him  and  murmured  something 
about  being  "so  glad."  He  turned  abruptly  away 
and  drove  off  instantly.  Trooper  followed  him,  but 
Lotos  stayed  ;  he  was  sitting  by  the  bed  watching 
everything.  Once,  when  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  gone 
to  the  kitchen,  the  dog  leaped  on  the  bed  and  stood 
over  Billy's  face,  whining  and  palpitating,  and  giving 
quick  dabs  on  her  cheeks  with  his  tongue.  She  looked 
at  him  with  a  shining  haze  over  her  eyes;  she  stretched 
out  her  arms  and  clasped  him  about  the  neck. 

"I  love  you  true,"  she  said.  "And  now  we'll  all 
be  happy  together." 

When  Mrs.  Armstrong  brought  in  a  bowl  of  steam- 
ing herb-tea,  Lotos  was  lying  with  his  little  grizzled 
length  extended  and  his  head  on  the  pillow  by  his 
mistress. 

Meantime,  as  Meloon  drove  along  over  the  white 
road,  the  wind  fell  before  the  coming  of  the  sun.  He 
saw  the  stars  fade  in  the  steel-blue  of  the  sky ;  the 
smoke  that  rose  from  the  houses  here  and  there  on 
the  hills  and  in  the  valleys  went  up  in  a  straight, 
beautiful  column.  There  came  a  glow  far  off  on 
the  edges  of  the  reaches  of  snow,  a  glow  that  grew 
stronger  and  stronger,  and  then  the  sun  came  up 
on  the  eastern  edge  and  struck  a  sharp  dazzle,  as 
of  swords  suddenly  unsheathed,  across  the  whole 
country. 

Meloon's  eyes  roved  everywhere  ;  he  saw  keenly 
the  miracle  of  the  new  day,  but  his  mind  remained 
closed.  His  heart  was  beating  to  one  question  as 

354 


AT  THE   FARM-HOUSE 

his  horse  rushed  on ;    the  question  was,  "  Will  she 
live?    Will  she  live?" 

Two  or  three  times  he  made  an  attempt  to  rouse 
himself  and  shake  off  that  question  that  he  fancied 
was  tolling,  as  if  it  were  a  bell,  in  his  consciousness. 

Trooper  galloped  over  the  snow-crust  at  the  road- 
side. 

Meloon  was  going  right  back  over  the  track  he 
had  just  travelled,  for  this  was  the  way  to  the  near- 
est telegraph-station. 

The  agent  was  just  locking  the  door  preparatory 
to  returning  to  his  home  for  the  next  two  hours. 
If  a  person  wanted  to  send  a  telegram  from  this  part 
of  the  country  he  must  want  to  do  it  enough  to  fight 
against  difficulties. 

"Hullo!"  cried  the  man;  "you  back?  I  swow 
you  must  like  to  sleigh  it  better  'n  I  do,  with  the 
glass  down  to  thirty.  Where's  my  mare?" 

"  Safe  in  my  stable ;  but  she  was  tired ;  so  I  came 
back  with  my  own  horse.  Open  that  door  again ;  I 
want  to  send  a  message." 

"  You  do  ?  Where  to  ?"  coming  forward  on  the 
platform. 

"  Boston.     Open  the  door,  quick." 

Meloon  jumped  from  the  cutter  and  flung  a  blanket 
over  his  horse. 

"  Will  he  stand  ?"  asked  the  agent. 

"Stand? — yes." 

He  took  the  keys  from  the  man's  hand  as  he  stood 
there  ;  he  fitted  one  into  the  lock  and  strode  into 
the  building  where  the  stove  was,  in  the  same  red- 
hot  state. 

"  Now  go  ahead." 

"Somebody  sick?" 

Meloon  did  not  reply ;  he  was  writing  on  a  form, 
355 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

which  he  immediately  pushed  forward.  The  man 
took  his  pencil  and  counted  the  words;  then  he  read 
them  slowly,  with  the  voice  of  a  machine : 

R.  S.  Hartwell, 

No. Commonwealth  Avenue,  Boston. 

"  Come  up  next  train.  Meet  you  at  Quimby.  Critical 
case.  Must  have  you.  Reply.  Am  waiting. 

••  K.  MELOON." 

"There's  more  'n  ten  words.  Can't  you  make  it 
less?  Save  you  money." 

"  No  matter  how  many  words  there  are — send  "em." 

The  agent  deliberately  counted  them  again. 

"  Have  to  charge  you  fifty  cents,"  he  said. 

"Send  'em  !"  cried  Meloon,  with  such  a  ferocity  of 
manner  that  the  machine  began  to  click. 

After  a  few  moments  the  man  turned  and  remarked 
that  he  guessed  the  answer  'd  come  'fore  night. 

"Yes,"  said  the  other,  with  emphasis,  "I  think  it 
will." 

"  I  shall  be  goin'  after  my  mare,  'n  I'll  take  the 
answer." 

"  No ;  I'll  wait.  Don't  you  know  I  telegraphed 
that  I'd  wait?" 

"Oh,  wall,  I  s' posed  that  was  a  mere  figger  of 
speech." 

"  I  shall  sit  here,  and  you'll  have  to  stay  here,  too. 
If  I  don't  hear  within  an  hour,  I  shall  wire  again." 

Meloon  sat  down  by  the  stove  and  crossed  his 
legs,  clasping  his  hands  over  his  knee.  His  face 
was  sharpened  in  some  strange  way,  and  set. 

The  agent  gazed  at  him  in  silence  for  a  moment, 
then  he  made  the  remark  that  "  telegraphin'  was 
dretful  expensive  business  ;  he  couldn't  afford  it. 
When  his  wife's  mother  was  visitin'  them,  'n'  his 

356 


AT  THE   FARM-HOUSE 

wife  had  had  to  go  to  the  Weirs  for  a  week,  'n'  his 
wife's  mother  was  taken  with  her  last  sickness,  he 
didn't  telegraph — that  was  'fore  he  was  agent — he 
didn't  think  he  could  afford  it.  Ike  Holt  was  goin' 
to  the  Weirs  in  two  days,  'n'  he  waited  'n'  sent  by 
Ike.  His  wife  come  home  's  quick  's  she  got  the 
word,  but  her  mother  died  'fore  she  got  there." 

Meloon  sat  perfectly  still.  No  one  could  have  told 
whether  he  had  heard  what  the  man  was  saying. 

The  agent  came  round  and  stood  at  the  other  side 
of  the  stove.  He  opened  a  damper,  then  lifted  the 
cover  by  the  wire  attached  to  it,  gazed  judicially  at 
the  glowing  coals,  then  replaced  the  cover  and  closed 
the  damper,  after  which  he  looked  at  Meloon  again, 
and  said  to  himself  that  this  man  was  the  settest 
feller  he  ever  seen ;  he  should  hate  to  be  so  set  as 
one  of  them  Meloons.  He  wondered  if  it  was  because 
the  male  Meloons  had  been  college-bred  for  so  many 
generations.  It  must  cost  a  sight  of  money  to  go  to 
college. 

After  half  an  hour  the  agent  put  coal  into  the  stove 
and  announced  that  he  had  an  "arrant"  at  the  house 
and  would  run  over. 

Without  turning  his  head,  Meloon  said,  shortly : 

"  No ;  you'll  stay  here." 

The  man  spat  into  the  box  of  sawdust  that  stood 
by  the  stove ;  he  spat  again  in  an  excited  manner, 
and  then  said  that  it  was  understood  by  the  company 
that,  as  the  trains  were  few,  he  should  be  able  fre- 
quently to  run  over  to  the  house  ;  and  it  was  proba- 
ble that  his  wife  would  by  this  time  need  some  wood 
sawed  and  split — he  hadn't  sawed  and  split  so  much 
as  common  that  morning  owing  to  that  gal — was  it 
the  gal  who  was  sick? 

Meloon  nodded  shortly. 

357  ^ 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

"Was  them  Armstrong  women  any  relation?" 

"  No." 

"I've  be'n  meanin'  to  ask  that  for  a  good  while, 
but  I  'ain't  had  a  chance,  or  if  I  did  have  a  chance  I 
forgot  to  ask.  A  feller  forgits  to  ask  lots  of  things." 

He  walked  uneasily  about  the  room.  He  began  to 
wish  that  Meloon  would  move. 

"Won't  it  cost  dretfully  to  have  a  doctor  come  up 
from  Boston  ?" 

Meloon  nodded  again.  He  set  his  face  harder  than 
ever.  This,  too,  must  be  borne. 

"  Hartwell  and  I  were  at  college  together,"  he  said, 
at  last. 

"  Oh ;  then  I  s'pose  you  c'n  git  him  cheaper." 

Meloon  sat  quiet  for  another  space ;  then  he  looked 
at  his  watch. 

"  It's  time  to  wire  again.  Find  out  whether  the 
other  found  him.  He  may  be  off;  we  must  track 
him.  Begin." 

Meloon  passed  the  whole  forenoon  in  that  little 
air-tight  room,  save  that  twice  he  unhitched  his 
horse  and  drove  him  a  short  distance,  then  returned 
and  again  covered  the  animal  with  his  blanket,  re- 
entering  the  room  with  the  same  hard,  inscrutable 
face  and  stiff  bearing. 

At  twenty  minutes  to  twelve  the  clicking  began  to 
sound,  and  the  discouraged  agent  read  off  the  message : 

"  Meloon, 

Quimby,  New  Ha  tups  hire. 

"Message  just  found  me  at  Charlcstown.  Coming  on 
12.10  train.  HARTWELL." 

Meloon's  eye  .ran  over  the  lines;  then  he  thrust 
the  scrap  of  paper  into  his  pocket.  He  could  go  home 
and  come  back  again 

358 


AT   THE    FARM-HOUSE 

"  If  I  had  my  mare  here  I  could  let  your  doctor 
take  her,"  remarked  the  agent. 

"  But  she  isn't  here.     I'll  be  on  time." 

He  was  stepping  into  the  cutter  when  he  heard 
this  question  : 

"  Has  she  got  anything  ketchin'  ?" 

He  did  not  reply. 

When  he  drew  up  again  at  his  own  door  no  one 
met  him.  He  entered  softly.  He  heard  a  voice 
speaking  incessantly,  but  there  was  a  happy  cadence 
in  it.  He  followed  the  sound  to  the  room  where  he 
carried  Billy  a  few  hours  before.  The  sunlight  was 
streaming  in,  and  lying  on  the  bed  and  on  Billy  and 
Lotos,  for  the  dog  was  curled  up  on  his  mistress's 
shoulder  on  the  outside  of  the  clothes. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  sat  close  by.     She  turned  quickly. 

"  Oh,  ain't  the  doctor  come  yet  ?"  she  cried. 

Meloon  shook  his  head  as  he  advanced. 

"  I  couldn't  find  him  at  first.  He  starts  on  the 
12.10  train." 

"  Then  it  '11  be  almost  night  'fore  he  gets  here.  It 
didn't  do  any  good  to  sweat  her.  She  knows  you, 
don't  she?  Don't  you  think  she  knows  you?  Oh, 
what  has  she  be'n  through  to  bring  her  to  this  ?" 

Billy  had  fixed  her  eyes  on  Meloon's  face,  and  as 
she  met  his  glance  she  smiled;  indeed, her  eyes  seemed 
smiling  all  the  time,  though  her  lips  were  serious. 

"  Yes.  Why  shouldn't  I  know  Mr.  Meloon  ?"  she 
asked.  "And  I'm  here  in  his  house;  it's  his  farm 
that  I  see  from  the  window.  But  what  puzzles  me 
is  why  the  whole  opera  troupe  should  be  continually 
going  by  that  window  and  singing — "  Here  she 
paused  to  laugh,  looking  at  Meloon  all  the  time. 
She  laughed  convulsively.  As  soon  as  she  could 
speak,  she  said : 

359 


THE   MELOON    FARM 
"They  never  stop  singing  this  verse: 

'  Welcome,  maids  of  honor ; 

You  do  bring 

In  the  spring. 
And  wait  upon  her. 
She  has  virgins  many. 

Fresh  and  fair. 

Yet  you  arc 
More  sweet  than  any.' 

Hark  !  You  hear  them  singing  it  now.  And  there 
they  go  wheeling  by  the  lilac  to  come  back  by  the 
syringa.  They  always  go  by  the  lilac  to  come  back 
by  the  syringa.  It's  tiresome  to  hear  that  so  much: 

'  Welcome,  maids  of  honor ; 
You  do  bring 
In  the  spring' — 

Don't  look  unhappy,  Mr.  Mcloon.  I  know  you,  and 
I  know  I'm  here.  I  left  England  just  to  come  In-ru. 
Everything  else  is  a  kind  of  smudge — just  as  my 
slate  used  to  look  when  I'd  drawn  something  and 
then  passed  the  palm  of  my  hand  over  it — 

'  And  wait  upon  her. 
She  has  virgins  many, 
Fresh  and  fair, 
Yet  you  are 
"More  sweet  than  any.1 " 

She  reached  out  her  hand  and  Meloon  took  it. 
He  knelt  down  by  the  bed,  holding  the  hand  fast ; 
it  was  piteously  hot,  and  the  pulse  at  the  wrist  was 
leaping  like  some  one  hurrying  for  his  life. 

He  forgot  that  any  one  else  was  present ;'  he  kissed 
the  hand,  then  pressed  his  forehead  down  upon.' it. 

360 


THE   DOCTOR 


AT   THE   FARM-HOUSE 

He  felt  that  he  was  tasting  of  the  bitterness  of 
death. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  did  not  notice  him.  She  was 
arranging  the  pillows,  and  she  was  saying  over 
again  and  again  : 

"  How  can  we  wait  so  long  for  the  doctor  ?"  and 
"  What  has  the  child  been  through  ?  What  has  she 
been  through?" 

In  a  few  moments  Meloon  drove  away  for  the 
second  time.  He  tried  to  think  of  Hildreth,  but  he 
could  not  keep  his  mind  upon  that  subject ;  he  could 
not  awaken  any  interest  in  the  question  as  to  what 
had  become  of  the  young  man.  He  knew  that  he 
cared  for  nothing  but  the  welfare  of  the  girl  whom 
he  had  left  beneath  his  roof. 

This  time  he  only  waited  ten  minutes  before  the 
train  came.  He  hardly  spoke  as  Hartwell  left  the 
car,  and  the  physician  asked  no  questions  then. 
They  wrapped  themselves  up  and  drove  in  silence. 
Just  before  they  reached  the  house  Hartwell  asked : 

"It's  a  woman,  I  suppose?" 

Meloon  nodded. 

"  You  care  for  her  ?" 

"  I  care  for  her — but  I  have  no  right.  Hartwell " — 
turning  so  that  their  eyes  met — "if  you  have  any 
skill,  use  it.  You  know  I  think  very  little  of  doc- 
tors, but  I  think  a  great  deal  of  your  power." 

Hartwell  smiled.  He  had  a  thin,  close-shaven  face, 
with  small,  bright  eyes,  eyes  that  one  sometimes  sees, 
that  seem  to  combine  the  shrewdness  of  an  animal 
with  the  intelligence  of  a  human  being. 


XLVII 
THE    PRESCRIPTION 

WHEN  the  two  men  entered  the  house  Mrs. 
Armstrong  came  swiftly  and  silently  for- 
ward. Behind  her,  and  as  if  following  her, 
was  the  low,  continuous  sound  of  talking— talking, 
and  at  the  end  of  every  few  words  a  slight,  bubbling 
laugh. 

The  mother  caught  hold  of  Hartwell's  sleeve  with 
both  hands. 

"Oh,"  she  whispered,  "are  you  the  doctor?" 

He  nodded.  He  hastily  and  noiselessly  threw  off 
his  outer  coat.  He  advanced  to  the  fire  and  held  his 
palms  towards  the  blaze.  One  could  perceive  that  he 
was  listening  all  the  time.  Mrs.  Armstrong  watched 
him  with  unswerving  eyes.  Meloon  had  gone  to  the 
door  and  was  standing  there ;  his  face  could  not  be 
seen. 

Presently  Hartwell  walked  into  the  bedroom  and 
sat  down  in  the  chair  the  mother  had  left.  Billy 
looked  at  him  brilliantly. 

"Are  you  a  friend  of  Mr.  Meloon's?"  she  asked. 

He  answered  that  they  had  been  friends  since  they 
were  in  college  together. 

"  Then  I'm  glad  to  see  you." 

The  next  instant  she  said,  pleadingly,  that  she 
wished,  since  he  had  come,  that  he  would  order  the 
troupe  to  change  about  at  the  syringa  or  the  lilac  ; 

362 


THE  PRESCRIPTION 

she  didn't  much  care  which,  only  change  about, 
somehow.  Dr.  Hartwell  replied  that  he  would 
attend  to  that.  He  sat  leaning  back  in  his  chair  in 
an  easy  attitude,  watching  the  face  on  the  pillow. 
Presently  Billy  began  her  low  stream  of  words  again, 
mingled  with  singing.  She  seemed  very  happy. 
Occasionally  she  glanced  at  the  door  as  if  seeking 
some  one.  Her  mother  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Meloon?" 

"  Here  I  am,"  making  a  step  which  brought  him 
within  sight. 

"  I  knew  you  were  very  near,"  she  responded  ;  "  I 
knew  it,  because  I'm  so  happy.  Over  there,  across 
the  water,  I  was  so  far  away  that  I  couldn't  be  happy. 
I  used  to  think  all  the  time  that  the  ocean  was  be- 
tween us,  and  I  expected  to  die.  I  learned  an  epitaph. 
Don't  you  want  to  hear  it?  I  meant  to  have  it  set 
to  music  some  time,  so  that  I  might  sing  it.  It's 
really  about  a  dancing- girl,  but  I  changed  it  to  a 
singing-girl,  and  it  makes  good  sense.  Now,  tell  me 
if  it  doesn't.  Listen." 

She  repeated,  in  a  small  voice  : 

" '  Here  I  lie  and  sing  no  more : 

Sayonara,  sayonara ! 
With  a  tombstone  for  my  door. 
Here  I  keep  unwonted  state, 
I  that  sang  up  to  Death's  gate, 

Sayonara ! 

"'Long  I  sang;  too  long,  too  long: 

Sayonara,  sayonara ! 
Sang  for  you  my  foolish  song. 
Now  I  neither  sing  nor  weep, 
But  'mid  iris  roots  I  sleep, 
Sayonara ! 
363 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

" '  Oh,  you  paid  my  song  with  gold, 

Sayonara ! 

Now  a  better  wealth  I  hold  : 
Folded  buds  of  silver  lilk-s. 
Golden  buds  of  daffadillies, 

Sayonara !' 


There's  some  I  can't  remember,  but  it's  no  matter. 
Mr.  Meloon,  won't  you  lift  me  up  higher  in  the  bed  ? 
I  keep  slipping  down  so." 

Hartwell  glanced  at  his  friend,  who  stood  in  the 
doorway.  Meloon  came  and  sat  down  on  the-  ed^e 
of  the  bed;  he  drew  Billy  up  so  that  she  leaned 
against  him. 

"  Perhaps  I  could  sleep,"  she  said.  She  closed  her 
eyes,  and  very  soon  she  was  sleeping.  Meloon  sat 
motionless,  and  as  time  passed  he  began  to  ache  in 
every  joint;  but  he  was  like  a  rock.  Hartwell  went 
silently  out  of  the  room,  and,  turning,  beckoned  to 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  who  began  a  whispered  inquiry. 
But  the  doctor  held  up  his  finger  and  shook  his  head. 
He  placed  himself  by  the  fire ;  Mrs.  Armstrong  hesi- 
tated ;  then  she  also  sat  down  and  made  an  effort  to 
be  still.  She  took  her  Bible  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  one 
of  its  pages.  At  last  she  found  that  she  was  reading 
these  words:  "Even  so,  come,  Lord  Jesus."  After  a 
time  these  words  grew  indistinct;  the  crackling  of 
the  burning  wood  on  the  hearth  was  all  the  sound 
there  was.  The  mother,  in  spite  of  her  anxiety,  was 
asleep. 

But  Hartwell  did  not  fall  asleep.  He  sat  looking 
into  the  flames,  his  gaze  never  losing  its  keenness. 
Twice  within  the  half-hour  he  drew  out  his  watch. 

It  was  more  than  an  hour  before  there  was  a  sound 
in  the  next  room.  Then,  without  warning,  the  voice 


THE   PRESCRIPTION 

began  again  and  the  doctor  rose  directly.  When  he 
entered  Meloon  was  just  putting  his  burden  down 
on  the  pillows,  and  Billy  was  saying; 

"The  letters?  Why  did  they  stop  coming?  Mr. 
Meloon,  I  haven't  had  one  of  those  letters  since  I 
started  for  Europe.  I've  missed  them  so.  It  was 
silly  to  miss  them  so,  and  I  tried  not  to  care ;  but  I 
couldn't  help  it — I  just  couldn't  help  it.  I  suppose 
that's  a  doctor  you've  brought — that  friend  of  yours. 
But  I  don't  need  any  medicine.  Now  I'm  here,  I 
need  nothing.  It's  lovely  to  be  so  happy.  When  I 
have  slept  a  little  more  I  shall  be  perfectly  well  and 
can  make  butter  again.  I  want  to  make  butter.  I 
don't  care  for  singing — in  public.  I  hate  the  public; 
and  the  flowers ;  and  everything  that  I  thought  I 
loved — everything  about  the  public,  I  mean." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  now  sitting  by  her  daughter, 
and  the  two  men  left  the  room.  Meloon  conducted 
his  friend  into  the  kitchen,  where  the  great  cooking- 
stove  was  hot  with  burning  oak-wood. 

"  Well  ?"  he  said,  facing  round  upon  his  companion 
and  standing  up  like  a  soldier  who  expects  a  volley, 
but  who  will  not  flinch. 

"  Oh,"  responded  Hartwell,  easily,  "  you  needn't 
worry.  She  will  get  well." 

This  was  so  different  from  what  Meloon  had  antic- 
ipated that  he  suddenly  lost  that  bravado  strength, 
and  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  keep  from  trembling ; 
but  he  did  hold  himself  steady. 

"  I  thought  there  was  no  hope,"  he  said. 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  all  hope,"  replied  the  other. 
"Worn  nerves,  unhappiness,  enormous  excitement, 
no  sleep  to  speak  of ;  on  the  other  side,  youth,  great 
recuperative  power,  and,  a  thousand  times  the  great- 
est of  all,  the  feeling  that  her  ship  has  come  into 

365 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

harbor  here.  She  has  fled  to  you  as  to  a  haven. 
She  was  better  even  after  that  sleep.  Didn't  you 
see  that?" 

Meloon  shook  his  head. 

"  I  was  in  despair,"  he  answered. 

"  But  she  is  rather  an  abnormal  person,"  went  on 
Hartwell.  "These  people  with  artistic  tempera- 
ments and  a  tendency  to  genius  of  one  kind  or  an- 
other rarely  are  normal ;  that's  one  of  our  recent 
discoveries,  you  know,"  smiling.  "  Perhaps  you  have 
kept  up  with  the  times  enough  to  have  learned  that. 
I  see  you  have.  You  pry  into  a  lot  of  things  here 
among  these  hills,  don't  you  ?" 

The  speaker  walked  to  the  window  and  then  back 
again. 

"  She  must  sleep  all  she  can,"  he  went  on.  "  She 
doesn't  need  a  drop  of  medicine.  Milk,  eggs,  and 
sleep — sleep.  For  a  few  days  you  might  better  go 
in  there  and  hold  her  as  you  did  just  now ;  she  feels 
your  strength  and  is  soothed.  Don't  oppose  her. 
She  loves  you  ;  if  there's  an  obstacle,  ignore  it  for 
the  present,  if  you  want  her  to  live  and  keep  her 
mind.  I  do  hate  to  deal  with  one  of  these  high- 
strung  hyperassthesia  cases.  Be  sure  you  let  her  have 
her  own  way.  Don't  read  her  any  moral  lessons,  and 
don't  let  her  mother  do  it.  See  to  that,  mind.  If 
anybody  goes  to  preaching  duty  to  her  before  she 
has  recovered,  I  wouldn't  give  a  penny  for  her 
chances.  Otherwise,  she'll  do." 

Again  Hartwell  walked  across  the  room.  This 
time  when  he  returned  he  came  close  to  his  friend. 

"  I  declare,  Meloon,  I  don't  envy  you — you're  in  a 
hard  place  ;  and  yet  I  do  envy  you.  I'm  not  afraid 
that  you'll  go  wrong.  You  always  did  have  the 
stiffest  backbone  in  our  class,  and  I  wasn't  an  inver- 

366 


THE    PRESCRIPTION 

tebrate  myself.  You  needn't  tell  me  how  it  all  hap- 
pened. It's  enough  that  it  has  happened.  I  suppose 
she's  entangled  with  that  tenor?" 

"  She's  his  wife." 

"  Eh  ?  Oh,  the  devil !  Bad  as  that  ?  I  didn't  know 
but  it  was  an  engagement  which  the  New  England 
conscience  had  run  against.  If  you  were  a  doctor, 
Meloon,  and  saw  what  I  see,  I  wonder  what  you'd 
think  of  conscience.  I've  half  made  up  my  mind 
that  there  isn't  any  right  or  wrong ;  we  have  differ- 
ent points  of  view,  you  know.  It's  all  in  that.  But 
that's  an  old  question,  and  it'll  never  be  settled.  Do 
you  want  me  to  stay  until  to-morrow  ?  Very  well,  I 
will.  But  she's  going  to  get  up.  Sleep — sleep — that's 
what  she  needs.  That  touch  of  delirium  will  be  gone 
in  twenty-four  hours.  You've  no  idea  what  a  strain 
these  women  will  bear."  Silence  for  a  moment. 
Then  Hartwell  went  on  again  :  "  I  knew  her,  of 
course.  If  I  hadn't  given  up  being  surprised  at  any- 
thing, I  should  have  been  surprised  at  finding  the 
Armstrong  up  here." 

"  You've  heard  her  ?" 

"Heard  her?  I  never  missed  a  night  when  she 
sang  in  Boston.  Her  voice  and  her  way  of  using  it 
are  delicious.  I  used  to  sit  and  listen,  and  forget  all 
the  people  whose  ills  I  was  worrying  about.  And  I 
used  to  wonder  at  her,  too.  She  put  a  lot  of  her 
life-blood  into  her  singing  and  acting.  The  public 
is  a  ravening  wild  beast — it  wants  life-blood — it  licks 
its  chops  and  shrieks  for  it.  I've  heard  all  the  sing- 
ers, and  I  must  say  I  never  was  touched  so  deeply  as 
by  this  one.  But  an  artist  pays  terrifically  for  the 
use  of  a  power  like  Miss  Armstrong's." 

The  doctor  became  silent,  but  his  eyes  dwelt  ques- 
tioningly  on  his  friend's  face. 

367 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

"I  never  quite  fathomed  you,  Meloon,  for  all  I 
knew  you  so  well,"  he  said,  presently.  "You  might 
have  been  a  strong  factor  among  men,  but  you  stuck 
to  this  farm." 

"  I  liked  sheep,  and  horses,  and  dogs  better  ;  and 
when  I  met  Trooper  as  a  pup,  I  wanted  to  make  a 
good  home  for  him." 

Meloon's  head  was  up,  his  eyes  glowing.  But  the 
hand  that  pulled  at  the  mustache  was  trembling 
with  the  relief  its  owner  felt. 

"You  think  because  she  is  going  to  live  that  you 
don't  care  what  else  happens  ?" 

As  he  spoke,  the  doctor  went  close  to  his  friend 
and  placed  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  He  continued: 
"Still,  I  suppose  it  would  simplify  matters  if  that 
woman  in  there  should  die — die  now  and  be  safely 
annihilated.  Well,"  dropping  his  hand  and  turning 
away,  "  I've  no  idea  what  it  means  to  be  loved  as 
she  loves  you.  She  is  somehow  like  a  child  and  a 
woman  about  it.  As  for  love — pshaw  !  that's  a  mere 
physical  phase  to  which  the  human  animal  is  liable 
many  times  after  adolescence.  It's  only  phrase- 
making  to  call  it  anything  but  a  physical  sensation 
and  demand.  And  yet — well,  there  is  something 
confoundedly  touching  and — I'll  say  itscsws  spiritual 
— in  her  eyes  when  she  looks  at  you.  And  the  tenor 
is  her  husband  ?  Meloon,  you've  got  a  hard  part  to 
play;  and  she  won't  help  you  at  present;  she  simply 
can't  help  you  until  she  becomes  stronger.  You 
just  listen  to  me,  Rawdon,  and  obey  me.  On  your 
life,  don't  you  let  any  question  of  right  and  wrong, 
and  that  kind  of  thing,  influence  you  in  your  man- 
ner to  her  at  present.  If  you're  going  in  for  that, 
wait.  There'll  be  plenty  of  time.  That's  my  only 
prescription— it's  all  that's  necessary.  Have  you  got 

368 


THE   PRESCRIPTION 

a  bit  of  cold  meat  and  bread?  I'm  about  starved. 
I  caught  the  train,  but  I  hadn't  any  time  to  eat." 

Meloon  brought  out  food.  He  brewed  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  sat  down  opposite  his  friend.  But  he 
found  it  difficult  to  follow  Hartwell's  words,  and 
soon  the  doctor  gave  up  talking. 

For  the  rest  of  the  time  the  doctor  sat  in  the  sit- 
ting-room, often  going  to  the  bedside,  but  he  said 
very  little.  Meloon,  released  from  the  hold  of  his 
most  terrible  anxiety,  now  found  his  mind  going 
back  to  that  other  worry — what  had  become  of  Hil- 
dreth  ?  But  he  would  wait  another  day;  and  even 
after  waiting,  what  should  he  do  ? 

The  next  morning  he  drove  his  guest  to  the  station. 
The  cold  still  continued.  The  snow  was  of  a  bluish- 
white  glare,  the  sky  clear  and  hard ;  there  was  no 
wind.  The  station-agent  came  out  of  his  ticket- 
closet  and  joined  the  two  men  by  the  cylinder  stove. 

"  Thirty  below  this  mornin'  on  the  north  side  of 
the  house,"  he  announced,  and  he  added  that  it  was 
dretful  weather  to  have  sickness  in  the  fam'ly. 

"How's  your  folks,  Mr.  Meloon?" 

"  His  folks  are  going  to  get  well,"  said  Hartwell, 
shortly. 

When  the  train  was  coming  he  hurriedly  repeated 
his  advice  to  his  friend. 

"  Mind,  don't  let  her  think  about  any  insuperable 
obstacle.  She  must  be  happy  for  the  next  few  weeks 
— until  she  is  strong  again.  If  she  wants  to  make 
butter" — with  a  smile— "let  her  make  it.  And  look 
out  for  that  mother  of  hers  and  her  conscience.  In 
five  days  write  to  me  about  her." 

The  train  moved  off,  and  the  agent,  on  the  plat- 
form close  to  Meloon,  asked,  in  a  high-pitched  voice: 

"  I  s'pose  it's  thunderin'  expensive  to  have  a  Bos- 

2  A  369 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

ton  doctor,  ain't  it,  Mr.  Meloon  ?  Costs  as  much  as 
five  dollars,  don't  it  ?  I  ain't  curious,  but  Tim  Loo- 
mis — I  told  him  about  it — thought  'twouldn't  be  s' 
expensive.  How  was  it?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Meloon  walked  to  where  he  had  hitched  his  horse. 
The  boards  creaked  and  snapped  beneath  him  as  he 
went.  The  horse's  nostrils  were  covered  with  beads 
of  ice,  and  his  breath  was  a  jet  of  steam.  He  was 
pawing  steadily.  The  agent  tucked  the  outer  robe 
about  Meloon's  legs. 

"When  you  do  pay  that  doctor,  I  wish  you'd  let 
me  know  how  much  'twas;  I  want  to  tell  Tim  Loo- 
mis." 

Then  the  horse  darted  away. 


XLVIII 
PEACE 

WHEN  Meloon  reached  his  home  again,  and 
came  in  from  the  barn,  Mrs.  Armstrong  was 
on  her  knees  in  the  kitchen.  She  rose  as  the 
master  of  the  house  entered.  Her  face  was  covered 
with  tears. 

"  Is  she  worse  ?"  with  a  peremptoriness  that  had 
something  savage  in  it. 

"  Thank  the  Lord,  no !  She's  asleep.  She's  be'n 
talking.  She  says  she  has  all  she  wants  now  she's 
back  on  the  farm.  She  says  she  doesn't  care  if  she 
never  sings  a  note  in  public.  I've  been  giving 
thanks.  I've  been  pouring  my  heart  out.  My 
prayers  have  been  answered.  Didn't  that  doctor 
leave  any  medicine  ?" 

Meloon  shook  his  head.  He  wondered  if  Serissa 
had  always  talked  like  this.  She  wandered  irreso- 
lutely about  the  room  before  she  stopped  by  the 
sink  where  her  companion  was  washing  his  hands. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "if  we  could  only  find  Vane,  how 
happy  we  might  all  be  !  'Ain't  you  got  any  clew  ? 
You  'ain't?  What  shall  we  do,  then?  I  s'pose  he's 
gone  off  after  her,  'n'  when  he  don't  find  her  he'll 
come  back  here,  won't  he?  I  expect  if  he  would  come 
things  might  be  fixed  up.  I  s'pose  they  may  have 
had  some  kind  of  a  quarrel — though  Miny  never  was 
quarrelsome.  She  used  to  love  him,  sure.  But  it's 

37i 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

no  matter  about  anything,  if  she  only  gets  well.  I 
do  think  the  doctor  ought  to  have  left  some  medi- 
cine. What  you  going  to  do  next  about  Vane?" 

Meloon's  face  was  hidden  by  the  towel,  and  be- 
hind its  folds  he  asked  : 

"  What  would  you  do  ?" 

But  Mrs.  Armstrong  could  not  tell ;  she  spoke  of 
the  select-men,  but  she  spoke  tentatively,  and  left 
the  decision  to  some  one  else.  In  that  short  winter 
afternoon  the  man  spent  an  hour  sitting  before  the 
fire;  Billy  had  asked  if  he  objected  to  placing  his 
chair  so  that  she  could  see  him  as  she  lay  on  her  bed 
if  she  opened  her  eyes.  She  made  this  request  as  a 
child  might  ask  a  favor,  and  it  was  granted  in  the 
same  manner.  Meloon  sat  in  his  big  chair,  with  his 
head  resting  on  the  back ;  sometimes  he  would  glance 
into  the  adjoining  room,  and  his  eyes  would  meet 
another  glance  from  shining  eyes.  But  at  last  Billy's 
lids  drooped,  and  she  slept,  lightly  at  first,  and  often 
wakening  and  calling  incoherently,  but  finally  the 
sleep  seemed  deep  and  restful. 

As  for  Meloon,  his  face  was  a  study  as  he  sat 
there ;  the  strong  features  had  a  soft  brilliance  upon 
them ;  he  was  not  ashamed  when  two  tears  fell  upon 
the  mustache ;  but  he  was  careful  that  Billy  should 
not  see  them.  When  she  was  asleep  he  rose  and 
left  the  room.  The  thought  of  Hildreth,  perhaps 
under  some  snowdrift,  was  mixed  with  every  other 
thought.  He  started  out  for  another  search,  and  he 
did  not  return  until  long  after  night ;  stars  and 
snow  were,  however,  so  bright  that  it  was  not  dark. 
But  he  discovered  nothing.  The  next  morning  he 
went  again,  and  the  next.  He  kept  up  these  trips 
for  a  week.  Sometimes  he  went  out  on  foot,  going 
on  the  crust  of  the  snow  into  woods,  down  narrow 

372 


PEACE 

valleys,  up  the  hills,  following  streams,  and  always 
with  the  two  dogs,  who  nosed  curiously  into  places 
inaccessible  to  their  human  friend. 

And  all  without  result.  Meloon  had  learned  that 
Hildreth  had  not  taken  a  train  at  the  station  at 
Quimby  ;  that  he  had  not,  made  the  suspicion  very 
strong  that  he  might  have  perished  in  the  cold  and 
the  storm.  If  he  had  found  shelter  at  any  farm- 
house within  miles  the  fact  would  surely  be  known. 

Meloon  took  everybody  round  about  into  his  con- 
fidence in  regard  to  the  missing  man.  He  asked 
questions  of  all  the  people  whom  he  met  at  the  cor- 
ners, so  that  in  three  days  there  was  not  a  farmer 
within  ten  miles  who  had  not  a  fancy,  when  he  went 
logging,  or  even  when  he  stepped  out  to  his  enor- 
mous wood-pile  in  the  yard,  that  he  might  find  a 
man's  stiffened  form  under  the  snow.  There  was 
an  unwonted  excitement  all  over  the  neighborhood. 
The  majority  of  the  inhabitants  protested  that  they 
would  not  be  astonished  at  anything  that  should 
transpire  concerning  the  "opery-feller"  that  Meloon 
had  been  hiring.  "  And  what  was  an  opery,  any- 
way?" "Oh,"  said  another,  "it's  a  kind  of  a  play 
where  they  sing  at  each  other  instid  of  jest  chinnin', 
as  they  do  in  the  theayter.  My  cousin  Lyddy  mer- 
ried  a  man  that  had  be'n  once  to  opery ;  'n'  Lyddy 
told  me  what  he  told  her." 

This  was  comparatively  direct  testimony,  and  was 
received  with  interest  and  satisfaction.  And  the 
singing-girl  had  come  back  from  nobody  knew 
where,  and  Meloon  had  taken  her  home,  where  she 
was  real  sick.  The  station-agent  had  given  a  detailed 
description  of  her  arrival  at  the  station  and  of  Me- 
loon's  meeting  with  her.  She  had  been,  of  course, 
somewhat  weak  in  the  upper  story — must  have  been, 

373 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

to  have  chosen  to  travel  in  a  storm  that  was  the 
worst  that  had  been  known  in  fifteen  years.  It  was 
generally  thought  that  Meloon  was  having  his  hands 
full.  And  he  was  odd  himself ;  but  it  must  be  owned 
that  there  wasn't  a  better  farmer  in  the  county, 
though  he  was  "luny"  in  some  ways.  Still,  a  man 
who  knew  how  to  raise  fine  cattle,  and  how  to  get 
good  crops  out  of  the  land,  was  bound  to  be  respected 
in  the  country-side,  even  though  he  was  also  decided 
to  be  luny. 

So,  for  the  time,  Meloon  gave  up  his  search  for 
Hildreth,  not  without  a  secret  indignation  that  the 
young  man  should  have  been  the  cause  of  all  this 
anxiety.  Sometimes,  as  he  rode  or  walked  about, 
Meloon  recalled  that  moment  at  the  depot  in  Boston 
when  he  had  thrust  Hildreth  forward  in  front  of  the 
coming  engine — thrust  him,  but,  with  instantaneous 
repentance,  pulled  him  back.  Perhaps  this  man  had 
never  in  his  life  thanked  God  so  profoundly  as  he 
thanked  Him  for  allowing  repentance  to  come  in 
time. 

Within  the  farm-house  there  was  sunshine  through 
this  cold  time.  Billy  was  still  in  bed ;  she  lay  there 
contentedly,  smiling  when  she  was  awake,  taking 
her  food  dutifully,  sleeping  much.  In  the  morning 
her  host  came  in  to  greet  her.  She  would  put  out  a 
hand,  which  he  took  and  held  an  instant.  She  would 
ask  him  what  he  was  going  to  do  that  day,  and  he 
would  tell  the  precise  spot  where  he  and  his  men 
were  going  for  logs,  or  for  pulp-wood  for  the  factory, 
and  what  oxen  they  would  take.  Then  she  would 
say : 

"You'll  come  in  and  let  me  know  what  you've 
done  when  you  get  back  ?" 

He  would  promise.  All  day  she  thought  of  where 
374 


PEACE 

he  was  at  work ;  she  knew  every  locality  on  the 
large  farm.  She  talked  with  her  mother  about  the 
different  places  and  how  they  must  look  with  the 
snow  everywhere. 

"  I  knew  I  should  be  happy  if  I  could  only  get 
here.  I  couldn't  explain  it  to  Bashy;  but  I  would 
have  asked  her  to  come  with  me  if  I  hadn't  felt  sure 
she  was  safe.  I've  had  her  on  my  mind,  but  I'm 
certain  she'll  go  straight  now.  I  left  a  note  for  her; 
I  didn't  want  her  to  worry.  What  time  do  you  think 
Mr.  Meloon  will  be  home,  mother?" 

"About  the  usual  time,  I  suppose." 

"  I  hope  so.     If  he  is  late  I  begin  to  be  afraid." 

"  You  needn't ;  nothing  will  happen  to  him.  I  don't 
worry.  He  can  take  care  of  himself." 

"  I  hope  so.     How  strong  he  is !" 

Billy  would  often  examine  her  hands,  as  sick  people 
will  do. 

"  I'm  going  to  see  to  the  milk  and  cream  when  I 
get  up,"  she  said. 

"  But  you'll  get  tired  of  that ;  you'll  be  crazy  to 
sing  again." 

"  No — never — never  again."  Mrs.  Armstrong  laid 
down  her  sewing;  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  face  on 
the  pillow. 

"  Oh,"  she  sighed,  "  I  s'pose  you  think  you  mean 
that ;  but  when  you're  up  round,  you'll  change  your 
mind,  'n'  I  shall  have  to  go  all  through  that  once 
more." 

"  Have  you  suffered  so  much  ?"  tenderly. 

"  I've  suffered  a  lot." 

"All  that  is  over.  I'll  sing  for  you,  and  perhaps 
for  Mr.  Meloon,  if  he  asks  me;  but  on  the  stage — 
never." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  began  to  cry  softly. 
375 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

"  It's  too  good  to  be  true,"  she  said.  "  I  ain't  going 
to  believe  it  yet.  When  you're  well  and  strong,  I 
tell  you,  it  '11  all  come  again — the  old  longing.  No, 
I  ain't  going  to  believe  anything  yet — though  I  have 
prayed  so." 

Billy  was  silent  for  a  space.  Her  mother  sewed, 
and  Billy  watched  the  needle.  The  pale  sunshine 
came  in  at  the  window.  Through  the  open  door  of 
the  sitting-room  the  two  could  hear  the  crackling  of 
the  logs  as  they  burned  on  the  hearth.  Everything 
seemed  peace.  Lotos  and  Trooper  had  gone  logging. 

"What  is  it  about  Vane?"  Billy  asked  this  ques- 
tion in  a  louder  voice  than  she  had  been  using,  and 
she  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  as  she  waited  for 
the  answer. 

"  He's  gone,  you  know.  He  hasn't  sent  us  any 
word  yet." 

This  was  what  the  two  elder  people  had  agreed 
should  be  the  answer  to  the  question  that  was  sure 
to  be  asked. 

"  Why  did  he  go  ?" 

"  Do  you  think  we'd  better  talk  about  that  ?" 

44  Yes,  certainly.  I  must  talk  about  it.  Why  did 
he  go  ?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  threaded  her  needle  before  she 
spoke. 

"  We  don't  any  of  us  know  why  he  went.  He  got 
dreadful  uneasy.  He  thought  he  wanted  to  stay 
here,  but  I  s'pose  he  didn't.  I  must  say  he'd  ought 
to  have  told  us,  so  we  shouldn't  worry." 

"  You  have  worried,  then  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course." 

"  I'm  to  blame.     I  was  hard  to  him." 

Billy  twisted  her  handkerchief  in  her  fingers. 

44  Sh!  Sh!  We  won't  talk  about  it.  All  you've 
376 


PEACE 

got  to  do  now  is  to   get  well.     When  you're  well 
mebbe  he'll  come  back  as  sudden  as  he  went." 

"I  want  him  to  be  happy,  but  I  know  he  can't  be 
happy  with  me.  You  needn't  hush  me,  mother  ;  and 
you  needn't  look  so  strange.  If  he  comes  back  it 
won't  be  to  me." 

"Oh,  Miny!" 

"  No.  I'm  going  to  stay  here  with  you  and  work. 
Vane  must  go  on  with  his  singing." 

"  I've  always  thought — "  having  said  this,  Mrs. 
Armstrong  paused  with  marked  abruptness. 

"What  have  you  always  thought  ?" 

Billy  was  lying  with  her  face  turned  towards  her 
mother,  with  one  hand  under  her  cheek. 

"  I  d'  know  's  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

The  speaker  let  her  work  drop  in  her  lap. 

"  No  matter  whether  you  ought  or  not,  you  must." 

"  Well,  I  do  s'pose  a  wife's  place  is  with  her  hus- 
band." 

No  answer — instead,  a  very  impressive  silence. 

"  Don't  you  s'pose  so,  Miny  ?" 

"  That  depends.  All  I  know  is  that  I  shall  never 
live  with  Vane  again." 

"  Miny,  I—" 

"  Mother,  we  won't  talk  about  it.  I'm  sorry.  I'm 
so  sorry  I've  been  nearly  dead  with  it.  And  I  hurt 
Vane.  I  couldn't  help-  it.  I  wouldn't  let  him  go 
with  me.  No  ;  I  couldn't  help  it.  And  he  was  so 
grieved.  It  has  all  weighed  upon  me.  I  couldn't 
go  on  ;  it  was  no  use.  When  I've  talked  about  it 
this  once  with  you  I  sha'n't  mention  it  again.  I 
mean  to  put  my  old  life  hehind  me — not  that  when 
I  was  a  young  girl,  and  was  so  happy  on  father's 
farm,  or  up  at  school  in  Holyoke,  but  since  then — 
since  I  knew  Miss  Runciman.  I've  paid  Miss  Run- 

377 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

ciman.  If  I  shouldn't  live,  I  want  you  to  remember 
that.  When  I  began  to  sing  over  there  in  England 
I  made  a  lot  of  money,  but  Bashy  and  I  lived  in 
cheap  lodgings — I  insisted  on  it — until  I  had  sent 
Miss  Runciman  the  last  penny,  and  interest.  What 
a  load  rolled  off  me!  But  there's  one  debt  I  shall 
never  pay — a  hundred  dollars  " — she  paused,  and 
then  added,  hastily,  "  but  perhaps  I  never  told  you  of 
that.  It's  no  matter.  I'm  not  going  to  talk  about 
that.  Oh" — her  face  growing  bright — "everything 
is  beautiful  now  I've  come  here.  I  knew  it  would  be. 
And  I  can  be  such  a  good,  unselfish  woman.  I'm 
never  going  to  grieve  you,  mother,  any  more.  I  shall 
be  really  a  good  girl  to  you  ;  and  if  Mr.  Meloon  will 
let  us  stay,  we'll  work,  and  have  such  a  quiet,  lovely 
life  far  from  the  madding  crowd.  How  I  hate  the 
madding  crowd  that  used  to  applaud  and  throw 
flowers  at  me.  Let  them  throw  flowers  at  some  one 
else;  I'm  done  with  them.  I'll  pick  my  blossoms 
here  among  these  mountains.  How  purple  it  looks 
over  by  The  Notch  to-day,  doesn't  it  ?  I  could  almost 
think  it  is  more  beautiful  among  these  hills  in  the 
winter  than  in  the  summer.  To  think  that  we  may 
live  in  a  place  like  this  !" 

The  happy  voice  kept  on  for  a  few  moments  longer 
and  then  stopped,  for  the  speaker  had  fallen  asleep. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  made  an  attempt  to  go  on  with 
her  sewing,  but  her  eyes  were  so  dim  that  she 
dropped  her  work  and  sat  looking,  with  that  mist 
over  her  vision,  at  the  placid  face  on  the  pillow. 


XLIX 
BY   THE  FIRESIDE 

"  T  TAS  Mr.  Meloon  come  home?" 

11  Billy  was  sitting  among  pillows  in  a  chair 
by  the  hearth-fire.  She  had  left  her  bed  now. 
There  was  a  hint  of  pink  in  her  face,  and  her  hands 
did  not  have  that  heart  -  terrifying,  pallid  appear- 
ance ;  she  did  not  look  at  them  so  much.  Some- 
times she  held  a  book,  but  she  did  not  read. 

"  Has  Mr.  Meloon  come  home  ?"  She  turned  her 
head  as  she  repeated  the  question.  "  Are  you  tnere, 
mother  ?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  came  forward  from  the  window. 
The  days  had  grown  a  little  longer.  It  was  now  a 
week  since  Billy  had  begun  to  sit  up,  and  three  weeks 
since  that  stormy  time  when  she  arrived  at  the 
Quimby  station  —  three  weeks  since  Hildreth  had 
gone.  The  snow  had  remained  on  the  ground. 
People  were  predicting  a  thaw,  and  those  who  had 
farms  near  the  river  were  fearing  a  freshet  when 
the  thaw  did  come.  Every  morning  they  looked  at 
the  sky  for  that  peculiar  warning  haze  that  often 
heralded  the  south  wind  ;  but  as  yet  it  had  not 
come. 

"  'Tisn't  time  for  Rawdon  yet,"  replied  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong. There  was  something  in  her  voice  that 
made  her  daughter  turn  quickly  towards  her. 

"Is  anything  wrong?"  she  inquired. 
379 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

The  elder  woman  rose  and  came  to  the  large  chair. 
She  hesitated  perceptibly  before  she  said, 

"I'm  afraid  something  is  wrong." 

"What?" — hastily— "  with  Mr.  Meloon?" 

"Oh  no;  with  you,  Miny.  I  do  fear  that  you 
think  too  much  about  him.  When  you  first  come, 
so  kind  of  weak  and  miserable,  I  thought  'twas  a 
childish  notion,  and  I  wouldn't  say  anything.  But 
I  declare,  Miny,  you  kind  of  worry  me  keeping  it  up 
so.  Can't  you  stop  it  ?" 

Billy  frowned,  but  presently  she  smiled. 

"You  needn't  be  troubled  about  that,"  she  an- 
swered. And  that  is  all  that  she  would  say. 

It  was  not  long  before  there  was  the  sound  of 
the  creaking  of  heavy  sleds  on  the  snow,  and  Billy 
saw  the  oxen  go  by  the  window  down  towards  the 
barn. 

Her  face  brightened  indescribably ;  she  carefully 
placed  the  mark  in  the  book  she  had  not  been  read- 
ing, and  folded  her  hands  over  it.  She  did  not  know 
that  her  mother  was  watching  her.  She  glanced  at 
the  clock.  She  knew  just  how  long  a  time  usually 
passed  before  her  host,  carefully  washed  and  combed, 
came  into  the  sitting-room  ;  and  precisely  at  the 
moment  he  appeared.  He  drew  a  chair  to  the  side 
of  the  fireplace  after  he  had  shaken  .hands  with 
the  invalid,  for,  no  matter  how  short  a  time  had 
elapsed,  he  always  shook  hands  with  her  when  he 
entered. 

Presently  Mrs.  Armstrong  went  out  to  prepare 
supper. 

"I'm  going  to  the  table  to-night,"  announced 
Billy.  "You  are  to  give  me  your  arm  ;  and  I'm  to 
have  my  supper  with  you  and  mother.  I'm  fully 
equal  to  it.  I'm  stronger  to-day  than  I've  been  any 

380 


BY  THE   FIRESIDE 

day.  I  didn't  think  I  should  get  well  so  fast.  Was 
it  just  as  good  sledding  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  better.     It  '11  grow  better  until  the  thaw." 

Meloon  was  leaning  far  back  in  his  chair,  his  face 
towards  his  companion.  You  would  have  said  he 
was  ten  years  younger  than  he  had  been  a  month 
ago.  He  had  been  literally  obeying  the  doctor,  and 
since  his  part  just  now  was  obedience,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  living  merely  in  the  present.  It  was 
enough  for  him  to  be  aware  of  this  woman's  un- 
reasoning happiness  ;  he  drank  in  this  knowledge 
greedily  ;  but  never  had  his  respect  and  tenderness 
towards  her  been  so  great.  He  thought  that  every 
day  made  his  love  more  perfect  and  complete.  And 
he  was  able  to  thrust  all  background,  all  perspective 
from  him. 

"Are  there  any  signs  of  a  thaw  yet ?" 

He  wondered  at  the  keen  interest  with  which  she 
asked  that  question  every  day. 

"Not  yet." 

Now  he  leaned  towards  her  as  he  inquired,  "  Why 
do  you  feel  so  much  interest  in  the  thaw  ?" 

He  imagined  that  she  grew  pale,  but  her  face  kept 
its  invincible  brightness. 

"  It's  only  a  notion;  don't  question  me.  Will  farms 
be  flooded  and  people  drowned?" 

"  There's  such  a  large  body  of  snow  that  I'm  afraid 
some  of  the  lower  farms  will  suffer;  but  no  one  need 
be  drowned." 

Meloon  did  not  resume  his  lounging  position  ; 
instead,  he  bent  over  the  arm  of  his  chair.  He  was 
never  a  man  -of  many  words,  and  of  late  he  had 
talked  less  than  usual.  Billy  was  not  troubled  by 
his  silence ;  it  was  enough  to  sit  in  the  room  with 
him ;  she  had  a  foolish  fancy  that  nothing  in  the 


THE  ME  LOON   FARM 

world  could  then  harm  her.    This  fancy  she  bcli< 
might  pass  away  when  she  had  become  strong;  but, 
in  truth,  she  gave  very  little  thought  to  it.     Con- 
vakscence,  with  many,  is  often  a  state  more  or  less 
resembling  beatitude. 

After  a  little  she  spoke  again. 

"There's  something  I've  often  wanted  to  talk  with 
you  about  You  won't  be  annoyed  ?** 

44  I'm  not  often  annoyed  by  you.** 

"  That's  true/'  eagerly ;  **  I  don't  grate  on  you,  do 
I  ?  You  know  what  I  mean  ?" 

He  smiled.  "  I  know  what  you  mean  ;  and  you 
never  do." 

He  was  resisting  a  wish  to  go  to  her  and  take  her 
hand ;  he  was  often  resisting  this  wish. 

"  I'm  so  thankful  for  th.v 

"Was  grating  on  me  what  you  wished  to  talk  of  r 

44  No— no.  It  was  about— about  your  wife,  Mr. 
Meloon.  I  never  heard  you  mention  her.  Did  you 
love  her  very  much,  indeed  ?" 

Had  Billy's  listener  been  a  nervous  man  he  would 
have  now  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair ;  but  he  did 
not  change  his  position  by  a  hair's- breadth  He  did 
not  reply  immediately,  but  presently  he  said,  slowly: 

14  No,  I  did  not  love  her.    The  marriage  was  a  great 
.ike." 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  that  made  Billy 
draw  back  in  her  chair. 

"Oh  !"  she  said,  softly,  and  then  hurriedly  :  "  Per- 
haps I  ought  not  to  have  asked  you  such  a  question. 
Was  it  wrong?" 

"On  the  contrary,  it  was  right.     Y«ni  may  ask  me 
anything.  Billy.     To  talk  with  you  is  a  great  ha 
ness  You  must  know  tha 

"Yes,"  with  a  little  quick  breath,  "I  think  I  do 


BY  THE   FIRESIDE 

know  that,  and  I  am  at  home  with  you — at  home. 
I'm  as  certain  I  can  never  bore  you  as  I  am  certain 
that  you  can  never  bore  me.  It's  a  great  thing  to 
be  such  friends,  isn't  it  ?  But  then" — not  waiting  for 
him  to  answer — "  my  friendship,  of  course,  can't  be 
as  much  to  you  as  yours  is  to  me ;  but  that  doesn't 
make  me  unhappy.  We  are  such  friends,  aren't 
we?" 

"  Yes — yes — we  are,"  almost  inaudibly. 

"  And  we  always  shall  be,  for  ever  and  ever,"  smil- 
ing. 

"  For  ever  and  ever." 

"But  if  you  didn't  promise,  I  should  feel  just  as 
safe.  Promises  aren't  much,  though  we  always  want 
them,  don't  we  ?"  A  pause — then  :  "  But  I  was  going 
to  ask  you  more  about  your  wife.  You're  willing  to 
tell  me?  Yes,  I  knew  you  were.  Why  did  you 
marry  her?  Did  you  think  at  first  that  you  did 
love  her?" 

"  I  reply  to  you,  Billy,  as  honestly  as  I  would  to 
my  own  soul." 

Having  said  this,  the  man  changed  his  lounging 
position  for  one  more  upright.  "  No,"  he  continued, 
"  I  never  thought  I  loved  her.  It  happened  that  I 
was  a  great  deal  with  her  ;  she  lived  over  beyond 
Quimby  station,  on  the  Leeds  farm — you  know  where 
that  is?  She  was  a  Leeds.  She  was  one  of  those 
girls  to  whom  the  phrase  *  pretty  as  a  pink '  applies. 
I  used  to  be  with  her  brother  Frank  a  great  deal,  and, 
of  course,  with  her.  To  this  day  I  don't  know  whether 
I  was  in  the  least  to  blame  or  not.  I  went  off  to  col- 
lege. Frank  and  I  used  to  write  to  each  other.  He 
began  to  talk  about  Dora  ;  she  was  thought  to  be  in 
a  decline;  he  said  he  wished  that  I  would  send  her 
a  note ;  he  thought  it  would  '  take  up  her  mind.'  So 

383 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

I  sent  her  a  note,  and  she  replied.  Several  letters 
passed  between  us.  When  I  came  home  for  the  long 
vacation  Frank  met  me  at  the  station ;  he  informed 
me  that  Dora  was  better,  and  he  gave  me  such  a 
meaning  glance  that  I  asked  point-blank  what  he 
meant.  The  amount  of  it  was  that  Dora  thought, 
or  pretended  to  think,  that  she  was  as  good  as  en- 
gaged to  me.  Frank  was  confounded  at  the  stare  I 
gave  him.  He  bristled  somewhat,  but  he  calmed; 
he  was  a  good  fellow,  but  one  of  the  kind  that  you 
soon  outgrow,  and  then  wonder  what  you  ever  had 
found  in  him.  He  gave  me  to  understand  that  his 
sister  was  in  love  with  me,  and  that  she  had  ceased 
to  decline,  was  very  happy,  and  looking  forward  to 
my  arrival.  All  this  sounds  ridiculous,  I  know;  but 
I  am  telling  you,  Billy,  what  1  never  have  told  be- 
fore. I  let  my  family  and  the  neighborhood  think 
that  it  was  my  own  fancy  that  led  me  to  do  as  I  did. 
My  father  took  me  aside  one  day  and  told  .me  that 
he  had  nothing  against  Dora  Leeds,  save  that  she 
didn't  know  anything,  and  he  was  sure  I  should  be 
deadly  tired  of  my  bargain.  He  never  spoke  again 
on  the  subject.  I  can  see  now  how  very  silly  I  was 
to  sacrifice  myself  that  way.  It  was  an  injustice  to 
her  as  well  as  to  myself.  But  perhaps  she  never 
knew  it.  I  think  it  was  true  that  she  loved  me,  in 
her  way.  I  had  a  notion  then  that  I  was  the  only 
one  for  her;  but  now  I'm  quite  sure  that  she  might 
have  had  this  fancy  for  almost  any  one  else  with 
whom  she  had  been  thrown  ;  but  I  didn't  know  it 
then.  I  had  fine  ideas.  I  was  good  to  her,  I  believe. 
I  married  her  when  I  left  college.  My  mother  was 
gone  then,  and  I  took  her  home.  Well,  I  tried  to  do 
as  well  as  I  could.  It  was  a  hard  time.  I  didn't  love 
her  at  all.  I  didn't  even  care  for  her  pink  and  white- 

384 


BY  THE    FIRESIDE 

ness.  It  was  an  insane  deed  to  do.  I  bore  the  con- 
sequences some  way ;  I'm  sure  my  intentions  were 
good,  and  I  hope  it  isn't  in  me  to  be  hard  to  a  wom- 
an. Inwardly  I  grew  more  and  more  discontented. 
My  father  died,  and  I  kept  on  with  the  farm.  Dora 
wasn't  even  thrifty.  She  lived  ten  years.  I  won't 
pretend  that  I  grieved  when  she  died,  but  I  was 
shocked,  and  I  missed  her.  I  grew  more  and  more 
like  a  wild  man.  I  kept  house,  or  rather  let  things 
go  as  they  would ;  but  I  did  take  care  of  the  farm. 

"  One  day  I  happened  to  hear  that  your  mother  had 
been  left  a  widow,  and  poor.  It  came  to  me  that  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  for  her  and  for  me  if  she  would 
be  my  housekeeper ;  so  I  wrote  to  her,  and  it  hap- 
pened that  you  and  she  had  returned  from  Paris  in 
time  to  receive  the  letter.  After  my  wife's  death  I 
had  a  fit  of  roaming ;  I  went  abroad  and  travelled 
here  and  there.  The  journey  did  me  good  ;  it  gave 
me  memories  that  have  been  dear  to  me  ever  since ; 
but  my  heart  turned  to  this  farm,  to  these  hills. 
After  a  year  I  came  back." 

Meloon  had  been  gazing  into  the  fire  during  the 
latter  part  of  his  narrative.  Now  he  turned  to  his 
companion,  who  had  been  listening  to  every  word, 
every  intonation. 

"  How  you  have  made  me  talk  of  myself,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  I  love  to  have  you  talk  of  yourself,"  she  an- 
swered. She  was  quite  pale  ;  she  seemed  to  be 
thinking  deeply.  At  last  she  said:  "It  was  like  you 
to  do  that — to  marry  that  girl ;  it  was  noble  of  you, 
but  it  was  very  wicked.  You  did  a  wicked  thing, 
Mr.  Meloon." 

"  Yes,  I  learned  that  long  ago." 

"  And  I  hope,"  she  began  again,  "  I  do  hope  that 
2B  385 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

you  will  never  let  any  such  sinful  pity,  or  chivalry, 
influence  you  again.     You  won't,  will  you  ?" 

"  No— no." 

Meloon  was  growing  hard  in  manner  in  sheer  self- 
•  defence.     He  thought  he  guessed  what  she  meant, 
and  his  heart  ached. 

She  had  sunk  far  back  in  her  chair  ;  her  thin 
white  hands  were  grasping  the  arms. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Meloon  raked  out  the 
coals  on  the  hearth  and  put  more  wood  on  them.  He 
glanced  furtively  at  Billy ;  she  was  so  pale  and  deli- 
cate that  fear,  which  had  been  lulled,  sprang  up 
alert  again.  He  remembered  Hartwell's  advice  — in 
fact,  he  never  for  an  instant  forgot  what  went  so 
well  with  his  inclination.  He  walked  to  her  chair 
and  placed  his  hand  on  the  back  of  it. 

"We're  such  good  friends,"  he  said,  "that  we 
must  not  run  the  slightest  risk  of  misunderstanding 
each  other." 

"Oh  no,"  looking  up  at  him,  "not  the  slightest 
risk."  She  spoke  ardently,  not  flushing,  but  grow- 
ing even  paler. 

"That  being  the  case,"  was  the  response,  "I  must 
tell  you  that  I  never  even  fancied  I  was  really  in 
love,  save  once.  We  are  becoming  quite  confiden- 
tial, aren't  we?  But  friends  should  be  confidential." 

He  had  managed  to  speak  calmly  ;  at  the  same 
time  he  could  not  bear  to  have  her  think  that  he 
felt  calm. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  she  spoke  again.  The 
brief  afternoon  had  waned  to  the  dusk.  Out  in  the 
west  that  apple-green  tinge  had  come  to  the  glow 
of  the  horizon  above  where  the  sun  had  disappeared  ; 
but  this  room  was  lighted  by  the  flames  on  the 
hearth.  How  peaceful  the  place  seemed  ! 
386 


BY   THE    FIRESIDE 

"  Oh  !"  suddenly  exclaimed  Billy,  "I  wish — how  I 
wish  that  I  still  cared  for  singing  !" 

Meloon  went  to  the  window ;  he  came  back  and 
stood  by  her  chair,  but  he  did  not  speak. 

"  I  used  to  care  so  much,"  she  went  on,  "  but  I'm 
tired  of  it.  I  love  the  still  life  in  the  country ;  you 
see  I'm  a  country  girl,  after  all.  I  was  wild  to  go 
when  I  left  here  that  time.  I  was  cruel  to  my 
mother  ;  I've  been  so  sorry  for  that.  I  hope  to  make 
it  up  to  her.  Everything  favored  me  then.  If 
Boldrea  hadn't  seen  me  I  couldn't  have  found  my 
chance  immediately.  It  was  to  be.  I  did  help  Bashy. 
I'm  so  glad  I  helped  her.  Do  you  want  to  know 
what  my  plan  is,  Mr.  Meloon  ?  As  soon  as  I  get 
strong  I  shall  buy  a  place  somewhere  among  these 
hills  and  have  my  mother  and  Bashy  with  me.  You 
know  I  have  some  money.  I  would  save  some  after 
I  had  paid  Miss  Runciman.  I  think  we  shall  be 
quite  comfortable,  don't  you?  And  if  my  home 
isn't  too  far  away,  you  will,  perhaps,  sometimes  ride 
over  and  call,  Mr.  Meloon?" 

She  smiled  as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  two 
tears  dropped  from  her  cheeks.  Now  she  laughed. 
"  I  am  just  like  a  baby,  but  that  is  only  because  I'm 
weak.  I  wonder  when  the  great  thaw  will  begin — " 
with  an  abrupt  change.  "  Do  you  know  I'm  afraid 
of  the  thaw  ?  Every  time  I  think  of  it  I  shudder — 
I  don't  understand  it ;  it  must  be  because  I'm  ill  and 
nervous.  I've  even  made  mother  frightened  about 
it ;  so  that  she  prays  harder  than  ever.  She  told 
me  yesterday  that  she  did  not  know  but  that  it 
might  be  ordered  that  the  Lord  would  come  at  the 
time  of  the  freshet ;  she  thinks  there  will  be  a  freshet 
and  many  lives  will  be  lost.  Are  there  often  dread- 
ful freshets,  Mr.  Meloon,  when  people  are  drowned?" 

387 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

"  I  remember  only  one,  when  I  was  ten  years  old. 
The  farms  on  the  river  were  overflowed  ;  cattle  were 
lost,  and  three  men  and  a  woman  were  drowned.  I 
went  out  with  father  in  a  boat.  We  picked  up  four 
sheep.  I  shall  never  forget  the  rushing  of  the  water; 
I  thought  it  knew  what  it  was  doing,  and  that  it 
wanted  to  swallow  up  every  living  thing.  There 
was  an  enormous  quantity  of  snow  that  year,  and  it 
was  cold,  until  all  at  once,  in  the  latter  part  of  April, 
it  turned  warm  and  a  southerly  rain  came  on  that 
lasted  twenty-four  hours.  You've  no  idea  how  it 
was  in  among  the  hills  hereabouts.  My  farm,  the 
most  of  it  lies  too  high  to  be  seriously  injured.  It 
was  a  long  time  before  the  low  lands  recovered — 
they're  the  best  farms  down  there,  but  I'd  rather 
have  mine." 

Meloon  was  talking  deliberately,  and  secretly  with 
a  purpose  to  keep  up  some  kind  of  a  conversation 
until  he  could  leave  the  room.  The  sight  of  Billy 
sitting  there  shorn  of  her  old  -  time  strength  and 
gayety,  and  with  that  wistfulness  on  her  face,  was 
hard  for  him  to  bear.  He  felt  every  day  that  the 
exact  path  in  which  he  must  walk  was  growing  more 
and  more  difficult;  still,  all  his  life  this  man  had 
held  the  belief  that  nothing  need  be  too  difficult. 


L 

THE   FRESHET 

"  QLEASE  sit  down,"  said  Billy,  presently. 

The  man  hesitated  visibly,  and  she  ex- 
claimed, quickly  :  "  But  no  —  perhaps  you 
have  something  to  do.  I  fear  I'm  so  thoughtless. 
You  must  go  away  just  when  you  choose.  Mother 
has  been  telling  me  that  I'm  very  arbitrary  with 
you,  and  that  she  wonders  you  can  be  so  forbearing." 

Meloon  walked  back  to  his  chair  by  the  fire  and 
sat  -down  in  it.  He  smiled  genially. 

"  Really,  Billy,"  he  said,  "  you  don't  strike  me  as 
being  arbitrary  the  least  bit  in  the  world.  What 
shall  we  talk  about  now?  We  have  stopped  worry- 
ing about  the  freshet  for  the  present,  I  believe." 

He  was  not  aware  how  elaborately  kind  he  seemed. 

"  You're  sure  I'm  not  keeping  you  ?"  eagerly. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I'm  sure  you  are  keeping  me ; 
but  I  like  to  be  kept.  What  shall  we  discuss  now?" 

"  Now  you  laugh  at  me.  But  I  don't  much  care. 
I  did  want  to  talk  of  one  other  thing  before  you  go. 
I  mentioned  those  type-written  letters  to  you? — and 
how  I  missed  them  ?  Yes,  I  was  sure  to  speak  of 
them  to  you.  I  haven't  had  one  since  I  sailed  from 
Boston  last.  I  think  the  missing  them  was  one  of 
the  reasons  that  made  me  so  desolate  abroad  there. 
They  had  been  my  life.  I  grew  not  to  care  for  any- 
thing. It  was  very  strange.  I  tried  to  get  used  to 

389 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

doing  without  them,  but  I  couldn't,  I  was  so  home- 
sick. Bashy  used  to  scold  me.  She  said  a  crank 
had  probably  sent  them,  and  that  now  he  was  send- 
ing them  to  some  one  else  without  doubt.  I  didn't 
care  for  that ;  I  wanted  him  to  keep  on  sending  them 
to  me  too.  The  strange  thing  is  that  I  don't  care  so 
much  now;  I'm  so  contented  here,  I  suppose,  that 
old  troubles  haven't  such  po\v<.  r.  When  I  get  a 
little  stronger  I  mean  to  read  all  those  letters  again 
and  see  if  I  really  do  care  so  much,  after  all.  You 
know  we  are  advised  not  to  allow  any  one  feeling  to 
become  really  dominant.  Oh,  how  wise  we  would 
be  if  we  followed  that  advice  !  Mr.  Meloon,  are  you 
really  going?  You  must  see  about  the  milking? 
Don't  forget  that  I'm  going  out  to  supper,  and 
that  you  are  to  give  me  your  arm.  And  will  you 
go  to  that  box  on  the  bureau  in  my  bedroom  there, 
and  bring  me  the  letter  on  the  top — it's  the  last  one 
I  had.  Thank  you.  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  read  it? 
— no?  Good-bye  until  supper.  I'm  getting  hungry. 
Don't  be  late." 

Meloon  walked  across  the  room ;  with  the  door  in 
his  hand  he  looked  back  at  the  figure  in  the  chair. 
He  saw  Billy  bend  her  head  and  press  her  cheek  to 
the  type-written  sheet  she  held  in  her  hand.  He 
hesitated  an  instant ;  then  he  returned.  He  had 
remarkable  control  of  his  voice  as  he  said,  standing 
by  her  : 

"  Billy,  you  must  forgive  me.  I  seemed  to  be 
obliged  to  do  it.  I  meant  to  tell  you  some  day.  I 
tell  you  now.  I  wrote  those  letters.  At  the  time  I 
had  a  fancy  that  I  couldn't  live  if  I  didn't.  That 
was  weak.  But  a  man  is  liable  to  be  weak  when  he 
fully  intends  to  be  strong.  I  had  my  type-writer  up 
in  the  attic.  I  didn't  wish  anybody  to  know  about  it. 

39° 


"I    SAW    HER  PRESS    HER    CHEEK   TO   THE  TYPE-WRITTEN    SHKET' 


THE   FRESHET 

I  had  help— Bathsheba  Hildreth.  I  would  send  her 
a  batch  of  letters,  and  she  would  mail  one  each  day. 
You  can  have  no  idea  how  I  cared.  I  even  used  to 
think  that  these  notes  kept  me  alive.  You  know 
there's  no  fool  like  an  old  fool.  But  when  you  had 
married  Hildreth — at  any  rate,  when  you  went  to 
England — I  found  strength  to  stop.  Do  you  think 
you  can  forgive  me  ?" 

She  looked  up  at  him.  She  made  no  attempt  to 
speak.  He  saw  the  light  on  her  face. 

"We  won't  talk  of  this;  I  can't,"  he  said.  His 
features  set  themselves  in  hard  lines.  There  was 
the  same  rigidity  of  muscles  as  he  went  over  the 
packed  snow  of  the  path  to  the  barn,  a  milk-pail  in 
one  hand,  a  lantern  in  the  other.  But  once  at  the 
barn,  among  the  cows  and  horses,  attending  to  their 
wants,  the  relaxation  came,  that  indescribable  calm- 
ing effect  which  domestic  animals  can  often  exert 
upon  those  who  are  intimate  with  them.  When  he 
returned  to  the  house  with  his  first  pail  of  milk,  he 
left  his  lantern  behind,  hung  on  its  peg.  The  moon 
was  rising  in  a  bank  of  thin  cloud  ;  this  bank  extended 
all  about  the  horizon,  though  the  stars  shone  thick 
in  the  zenith.  There  was  a  curious  softness  in  the 
air,  and  a  perfume,  as  of  spring  flowers.  Whence 
does  this  perfume  come  when  snow  covers  the  world 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  see — when  there  seems  not  a 
single  tender  green  growth  in  the  universe? 

Meloon  stood  still.  There  seemed  to  be  abso- 
lutely no  wind.  He  held  up  one  hand;  the  palm 
was  towards  the  south,  and  on  the  palm  there  was 
felt  a  faint,  soft  breath. 

"  It's  coming,"  he  said,  aloud;  and  then  :  "  I  wonder 
if  Ripley,  and  Farwell,  and  Jewett  are  prepared. 
They  ought  to  take  their  cattle  away,  and  maybe 

39' 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

their  women-folk.  They  never  did  notice  the  signs 
of  the  weather  enough ;  but  the  Chamberlins,  far- 
ther down  the  river,  '11  be  sure  to  be  ready  for  any- 
thing." 

He  hurried  in  with  his  milk-pail,  and  then  back  to 
the  barn.  Trooper  and  Lotos  this  time  trailed  be- 
hind him,  lazily  sniffing  along  the  path.  Before  he 
returned  to  the  house  Meloon  harnessed  his  brown 
mare  into  the  cutter,  and  tied  her  to  the  hitching- 
ring.  When  he  went  back  the  second  time  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  gentle  wind,  which  came  from  the 
south,  was  like  a  breath  of  June ;  and  now  the  breeze 
came  in  irregular  puffs,  that  in  half  an  hour  had 
settled  into  a  steady  breeze,  warm  and  sweet.  The 
clouds  were  rising  and  slowly  blotting  out  the  stars. 

But  when  the  master  of  the  house  gave  his  arm  to 
Billy  to  take  her  out  into  the  big  kitchen,  where  the 
supper  was  waiting,  he  said  nothing  about  the  change 
in  the  weather.  He  walked  gently,  feeling  how  she 
leaned  upon  him,  how  weak  she  still  was,  though 
there  was  a  steady  increase  in  her  strength  now 
from  day  to  day,  and  she  would  soon  be  about. 
There  was  a  subdued  air  of  cheerfulness  in  the 
manner  of  the  three  people  at  the  table  that  night. 
Before  they  rose  the  wind  was  making  a  slight 
moaning  noise  around  the  southerly  corner  of  the 
house. 

"I  do  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  "that  the 
wind  has  changed  ;  ain't  it  gettin'  into  the  south, 
Rawdon  ?" 

Meloon  rose.  He  had  lingered,  watching  Billy's 
face  as  she  talked  or  listened. 

"I'm  going  to  drive  down  to  the  intervale,"  he 
said,  abruptly.  "  I  want  to  see  Jewett  and  Farwell." 

They  all  rose.  A  certain  look  of  excitement  came 
392 


THE  FRESHET 

to  their  faces.  Meloon  went  to  Billy's  side  and  asked 
if  he  should  help  her  back  to  the  other  room.  She 
was  standing,  holding  to  the  back  of  a  chair.  She 
shook  her  head. 

"  Oh  no.  I'm  stronger  already.  I  can  walk  alone. 
You  must  go.  You  think  the  thaw  has  begun,  don't 
you  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  it  has  begun.  But  it  always  takes  time. 
And  you  needn't  be  afraid.  This  farm  is  situated 
so  that  all  the  ice  of  the  frigid  zone  melting  here 
couldn't  harm  it.  Don't  sit  up  for  me.  Keep  Lotos 
in  the  house  ;  but  Trooper  is  going.  Remember, 
nothing  can  harm  you  here." 

"We're  not  afraid,"  answered  Billy,  quickly;  "but 
I'm  excited.  I  feel  as  I  used  to  feel  when  I  was  a 
child  and  a  tempest  was  coming  up  in  the  west.  Are 
you  going  to  be  careful  of  yourself,  Mr.  Meloon?" 

The  man  laughed.  He  had  put  on  his  great  fur 
coat.  He  walked  to  the  door,  and  as  he  opened  it 
the  wind  came  in  a  gust  and  made  the  smoke  rush 
down  the  chimney. 

"  How  warm  it  is  getting  !"  cried  Mrs.  Armstrong. 
"  It  seems  strange  for  it  to  come  so  warm  all  at  once." 

Meloon  had  stepped  without  the  house,  but  he 
came  back.  He  hastily  unbuttoned  the  wrap  of, 
fur  and  threw  it  on  a  chair.  Without  speaking,  he 
went  to  a  closet  and  took  an  ordinary  overcoat. 
The  two  women  watched  him  in  silence.  In  a  few 
moments  they  heard  the  jingle  of  his  sleigh  as  the 
mare  trotted  by  the  house  into  the  lane.  Lotos 
jumped  on  a  chair,  put  his  paws  on  the  window- 
shelf,  and  tried  to  look  out ;  then  he  whined.  Billy 
rose  and  moved  slowly  across  the  room  to  the  dog. 
She  placed  a  hand  each  side  her  face  and  looked 
through  the  glass.  Far  away  down  the  lane  she 

393 


THE  MELOON    FARM 

saw  a  bit  of  dark  rapidly  going  on.  The  panes 
rattled  ;  the  wind  was  rising  fast. 

"  I'm  sorry  Rawdon  has  gone,"  said  the  elder 
woman.  She  began  to  pick  up  the  dishes  from  the 
table  and  pile  them  in  the  sink. 

"  Nothing  can  happen  to  him,"  confidently  asserted 
the  other.  But  she  gazed  again  through  the  win- 
dow. This  time  she  saw  nothing  but  the  stretch  of 
snow  lying  under  a  cloudy  sky,  through  which  the 
moon  was  slowly  wading. 

Billy  lingered  in  the  kitchen  ;  she  hardly  noticed 
the  terrier  who  came  and  pressed  against  her  side. 
She  heard  the  fir-trees  at  the  north  of  the  house 
thrash  and  moan,  and  the  sound  worried  her. 

"  I  wish  you'd  open  the  door,  mother,"  she  said. 

"Why?"  turning  from  her  dish-washing. 

"Because  I  want  to  know  how  warm  it's  growing. 
Oh,  I  wish  I  could  go  out !  How  strange  it  is  !" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  opened  the  door  a  few  inches,  but 
the  wind  thrust  it  wide  and  blew  through  the  room, 
slamming  a  door  somewhere  else.  Lotos  made  a 
dash  outside,  but  he  returned  when  his  mistress 
called  him,  and  stood  growling  by  her  side. 

It  was  only  after  a  struggle  that  the  door  was 
closed,  and  this  time  it  was  bolted. 

"  I  do  believe  we're  going  to  have  a  dreadful  spell 
of  weather." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  picked  up  the  towel  she  had 
dropped.  "  It's  as  warm  as  June.  This  snow  will  go 
as  if  'twas  put  into  a  hot  oven.  There'll  be  dreadful 
accidents." 

"  But  Mr.  Meloon  will  be  safe ;  he  knows  exactly 
what  to  do,"  asserted  Billy. 

Nevertheless,  that  assertion  did  not  keep  the 
anxiety  from  her  heart  as  the  hours  dragged  on. 

394 


THE   FRESHET 

By  nine  o'clock  it  seemed  late  in  the  evening.  The 
wind  was  rising  still,  and  sometimes  there  came  a 
dash  of  rain  on  the  front  windows,  which  opened 
towards  the  south.  By  this  time  the  change  of  tem- 
perature had  penetrated  to  the  rooms.  The  two 
women  kept  only  a  low  fire  on  the  hearth;  they 
opened  the  door  into  the  shed.  A  little  while  later 
Billy  proposed  that  they  should  have  some  tea,  so 
her  mother  brewed  it,  and  then  they  sat  side  by  side 
and  drank  it,  speaking  only  now  and  then. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  go  to  bed,  Miny?" 
Mrs.  Armstrong  put  this  question  for  the  third  time, 
and  for  the  third  time  the  reply  was  the  same. 

"  Oh  no,  mother ;  I'm  not  going  to  bed  at  all." 

The  strpng  tea  stimulated  her,  so  that  she  was 
wakeful  and  strong.  She  walked  across  the  room 
like  her  old  self. 

At  a  quarter  to  eleven  there  was  the  sound  of 
thunder  in  the  west,  and  the  lightning  flashed  sharp- 
ly ;  the  rain  came  down  as  in  a  summer  shower. 

Billy  and  her  mother  sat  close  together  on  the 
lounge,  with  Lotos  at  their  feet ;  the  terrier's  hair 
was  bristled  along  his  spine,  and  he  growled  when  a 
clap  of  thunder  came. 

"Where  do  you  suppose  he  is?" 

It  was  Billy  who  asked  this  when  the  tempest  be- 
gan to  subside. 

"Where  who  is?"  was  the  responsive  question; 
Mrs.  Armstrong  moved  as  if  released  from  binding 
cords. 

But  before  there  was  any  reply,  they  heard  the 
sound  of  sleigh-bells  coming  down  the  lane.  They 
both  rose  as  by  one  impulse,  and  stood  listening. 
The  long  clock  in  the  corner  of  the  kitchen  struck 
eleven.  The  younger  woman  remembered  how,  at 

395 


THE   MELOON   FARM 

this  hour,  she  had  been  so  often  wrapping  her  furs 
about  her  in  her  dressing-room  to  go  to  the  carriage 
that  waited  for  her  after  the  opera  was  over ;  and 
as  she  remembered,  she  inhaled  again  the  odors  of 
the  flowers  that  were  piled  in  the  bit  of  a  room. 

Had  that  singing- woman  really  been  herself? 

But  why  should  she  recall  those  things  when  her 
whole  life  was  centred  in  this  corner  of  New  Hamp- 
shire? She  did  not  understand. 

The  sleigh-bells  did  not  go  by  and  on  to  the  barn. 
They  stopped  abruptly,  and  then  a  whip -handle 
rapped  on  the  door.  Mrs.  Armstrong,  after  several 
attempts,  slid  back  the  bolt  and  the. door  opened 
violently.  A  man  in  a  long  rubber  coat  and  rubber 
boots  stepped  quickly  in,  shutting  the  door  and  put- 
ting his  back  against  it.  Billy  noted  how  the  coat 
and  boots  glistened  in  the  lamplight,  and  dripped  in 
many  trickles  to  the  floor. 

"Where's  Meloon'" 

"  He  went  down  to  the  intervale  right  after  supper." 

"All  right ;  if  he  hadn't  gone  I  wanted  him  to  go 
now.  We  folks  that  are  lucky  enough  to  be  on  high 
land  '11  have  to  help  them  that  ain't.  I  can't  stop  a 
minute.  The  whole  world's  thawin'  'n'  runnin'  down 
into  the  valleys.  I  never  saw  the  snow  act  so  in  my 
life.  It's  jest  about  posh  now.  We'll  have  a  lot  of 
sheep  to  save,  I  guess ;  sheep  ain't  wuth  much  for 
savin'  themselves.  They  jest  give  up,  'n'  die.  They 
ain't  a  bit  like  hogs." 

Having  thus  spoken,  the  man,  who  lived  two  miles 
up  the  road,  left  the  house,  and  the  two  women  man- 
aged to  fasten  the  door  again,  the  wind  and  the  rain 
beating  in  on  them. 

"You'll  get  cold,  Miny.  I  do  wish  you'd  keep 
away,"  from  the  mother. 

396 


THE   FRESHET 

"  I  sha'n't  take  cold,"  briefly. 

Billy  walked  to  the  fire  and  stood  before  it.  She 
saw  the  green  baize  bag  that  held  Meloon's  violin. 
She  took  out  the  instrument  and  held  it  under  her 
chin,  gently  picking  the  strings.  She  fancied  it  spoke 
to  her  with  the  voice  of  its  master. 

"  Miny,  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  you,"  queru- 
lously. "As  for  me,  I  couldn't  touch  a  fiddle  now 
unless  I  was  made  to." 

Billy  replaced  the  violin  in  its  bag  without  speak- 
ing; then  she  sat  down  in  Meloon's  chair  at  one  side 
of  the  hearth.  She  leaned  back  and  closed  her  eyes. 
For  a  time  Mrs.  Armstrong  fidgeted  in  and  out 
among  the  lower  rooms  ;  then  she  took  her  old  place 
by  the  work-table  and  began  to  knit.  The  hours 
must  be  worn  through  in  some  way.  The  wind  and 
rain  kept  up  all  night — how  long  that  night  was  ! 
Before  morning  the  two  watchers  could  hear  the 
water  rushing  and  gurgling  everywhere  down  past 
the  house. 

Once  Billy  went  to  a  window  at  the  north  and 
opened  it.  Here  they  were  sheltered  from  the  wind, 
and  could  listen  to  the  roar  that  filled  the  air.  It 
was  still  raining.  It  was  not  very  dark,  since  be- 
hind the  clouds  there  was  a  moon.  They  could  see, 
between  them  and  the  barn  where  the  cattle  were, 
a  dark,  broad  stream  running  over  the  snow. 

"  I'm  glad  the  barn  stands  up  the  slope,  and  is  so 
strong,"  said  Billy. 

"The  old  carriage-house  is  going,"  said  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, a  few  moments  later. 

The  building,  farthest  down  of  all,  and  which  held 
in  late  years  only  farm-carts,  ploughs,  and  barrows, 
moved;  it  hesitated,  then  swung  about,  and  began 
to  drift  off. 

397 


THE    MELOON    FARM 

Neither  of  the  women  spoke.  Mrs.  Armstrong  had 
brought  a  blanket  and  was  holding  it  around  her 
daughter  and  herself.  They  watched  the  house  reel 
along  as  if  some  sentient  thing  had  grasped  it. 

Suddenly  Billy  turned  away.  Her  mother  care- 
fully shut  the  window.  They  returned  to  the  sitting- 
room  and  established  themselves  there  again. 

"Mother,"  said  Billy,  "why  did  you  talk  to  me  as 
if  Mr.  Meloon  were  thinking  of  marrying  you?" 

It  was  a  brief  space  of  time  before  Mrs.  Armstrong 
could  reply;  for  the  inquiry  had  come  with  the 
suddenness  of  a  blow. 

"Why?"  at  last.  "  Because  I  thought  it  might  be 
so,  and — and — "  a  silence. 

"And  what?"  with  some  harshness.  Then,  more 
gently:  "Oh,  do  forgive  me  if  I  speak  a  hard  v. 
mother.  If  I  had  known  that  you  were  mistaken, 
that  he  had  no  such  thought,  I  might  have  been  a 
happy  woman  these  two  years  back.  And  now  I 
can  never  be  happy." 

She  spoke  with  perfect  calmness.  She  was  not 
looking  at  her  mother,  but  at  the  coals  on  the  hearth. 
Something  in  the  wild  tumult  without  had  the  effect 
of  loosening  her  reserve,  as  unwonted  surroundings 
will  sometimes  change  our  mood  so  much  as,  for  the 
moment,  to  seem  to  change  our  character. 

Finally  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  able  to  speak. 

"  I  did  think  it  likely  that  he'd  want  to  marry  me  ; 
and  all  the  neighbors  thought  so.     It  did  seem  kind 
of  probable,  didn't  it?     Not  that  he  ever  said  any- 
thing.    But  widowers  don't  say  much,  they  tell  me. 
I  didn't  think  so  for  long;  and  we  ain't  suited  to 
each  other  at  all.     I  c'n  see  that  plain  enough  now. 
I  used  to  make  sure  you  were  in  love  with  Vane." 
"And  you  told  that  to  Mr.  Meloon?" 
398 


THE   FRESHET 

"  Yes,  of  course.  You  know  he's  a  man  you  can 
confide  in.  Why  shouldn't  I  tell  him?  But  finally 
I  did  think  I  was  mistaken,  though  you  went  and 
married  Vane.  But  I  got  all  muddled,  and  that's  a 
fact.  I  didn't  know  what  I  did  think,  and  I  don't 
now.  I've  been  having  such  strange  suspicions ;  I 
can't  make  out  anything.  Do  you  feel  like  speaking 
out  plain  to  me,  Miny  ?  I  s'pose  you're  being  an 
opery- singer  makes  you  different.  I  can't  under- 
stand much  of  anything  in  these  days.  I  wish  you 
did  feel  like  speaking." 

But  Billy  was  silent.  She  shook  her  head  in  the 
negative,  and  then  gazed  at  the  fire  again.  The 
mood  for  speaking  had  gone  as  quickly  as  it  had 
come.  Her  mother's  words  had  made  all  that  had 
passed  seem  simple  and  natural. 

The  storm  kept  on  all  night.  Towards  morning 
the  wind  abated  somewhat,  but  the  rain  came  down 
heavily.  At  three  o'clock  Billy  yielded  to  her 
mother's  entreaties  and  laid  herself  down  on  the 
lounge.  In  truth,  she  was  weary  and  weak.  She 
closed  her  eyes  and  tried  presistently  to  sleep ;  she 
was  at  last  in  a  sort  of  half  slumber  when  she  heard 
her  mother  go  quickly  across  the  room.  She  sat  up 
instantly.  Was  that  Trooper's  impatient  bark?  Yes; 
and  she  heard  the  slow  jangle  of  bells  towards  the 
barn.  It  was  daylight ;  and  it  was  still  raining  hard. 
The  same  roar  of  rushing  waters  was  audible  in 
every  direction. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  Meloon  came  in. 
When  he  did  come,  Billy  had  reached  the  kitchen 
that  she  might  satisfy  herself  the  sooner  as  to  his 
welfare.  He  had  thrown  off  his  overcoat  in  the 
shed ;  he  was  soaked  to  the  skin,  sodden  and  clammy, 
He  paused  by  the  hot  cooking-stove,  and  now  the 

399 


THE   MELOON    FARM 

two  women  saw  his  face,  white,  and  worn,  and 
strained. 

Billy  walked  slowly  towards  him.  She  saw  that 
he  had  endured  something  more  than  the  work  of 
helping  to  save  the  lives  of  his  neighbors'  animals, 
severe  though  that  work  might  have  been.  Her 
old  terror  at  the  thought  of  the  freshet  came  back 
in  full  force.  She  sat  down  in  a  chair  near  where  he 
stood. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"  It's  been  a  hard  night,"  hoarsely. 

"  That  is  not  all.     Tell  me." 

The  man  gazed  at  her  an  instant.  It  was  im- 
possible to  know  what  was  in  his  sunken  eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  He  continued,  speaking 
rapidly :  "It  will  be  best  not  to  try  to  keep  it  back. 
You've  got  to  know.  We've  found  him — Hildreth. 
The  floods  have  given  him  up.  His  body  came  down 
the  river  just  below  Jewett's.  It  must  have  been 
lying  covered  with  snow,  frozen,  in  the  gorge  be- 
tween those  two  hills — lying  ever  since  that  storm 
when  he  disappeared.  I  tried  to  find  him ;  God 
knows  I  tried.  I  did  everything  I  could.  I  hunted 
for  days  when  everybody  else  had  given  up.  He — 
it — is  lying  there  at  Jewett's  now.  We  all  knew  him 
directly — the  cold  had  preserved  the  body.  For 
God's  sake,  Billy,  don't  look  like  that !  You  were 
not  to  blame.  Serissa,  take  her  to  bed.  I  don't 
dare  to  touch  her.  Make  her  know  that  all  was 
done  that  could  have  been  done.  Make  her  know 
that,  Serissa,  will  you?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  took  her  daughter's  hand  and  led 
her  away.  The  elder  woman  was  crying  gently, 
but  the  younger  was  dry-eyed.  She  went  obediently, 
put  herself  on  the  bed,  and  let  her  mother  minister 

400 


THE    FRESHET 

to  her  ;  she  swallowed  red  lavender  and  hot  water, 
not  knowing  that  anything  was  passing  her  lips. 

Meloon  presently  came  into  the  sitting-room  in 
dry  clothing.  He  moved  noisily,  then  paused  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  for  he  heard  the  sound  of  a 
praying  voice.  It  was  Serissa  praying  for  her  child. 
She  was  beseeching  God  to  deal  gently  with  Miny, 
to  lead  her  safely  through  this  darkness,  and  to  give 
her,  after  a  while,  many  years  of  happiness,  for  she 
was  young,  and  might  be  happy. 

Meloon  bent  his  head. 


THE    END 


BY  MARY  E.  WILKINS 


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